Tangled Fates
by ClockworkAssassin
Summary: [The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim] A bookish, mild-mannered Breton and a gruff, world-weary Nord embark on an adventure that quickly spirals into far more than they bargained for. The world is ready for a Dragonborn... but is it ready for two?
1. I: Kro Ahrk Kendov, Wizard And Warrior

The trees themselves seemed to weep. Even from this distance every beat of the dragon's wings stripped the leaves from them and thrust them to the ground like children's playthings, concussive _thump_s and roars splitting the sky to herald Ingrahsu's arrival. _Master-Battle-Air, _the _dov _called her, but today she had another name: _Dinok-haalvut, _death-touched. For she was the prey of the Dovahkiin_._

The Dragonborn filled his lungs in preparation, feeling the _Thu'um _swell in his throat. "Bo ahrk dir!" he roared up at the circling flash in the sky. _Come and die!_

Ingrahsu's response shook the mountain. "Yol wah hin qeth!" _Fire to your bones! _The air screamed against her wings as she rolled and dove, her tail lashing the air in the speed of her descent. She roared down to earth like a bullet, and the Dragonborn slammed the hilt of his sword against his shield as he readied himself to meet her, dragon blood boiling with the thrill of combat and the joy of the kill. He could hear the would-be heroes behind him dropping their weapons and fleeing like frightened skeevers – not that he blamed them – and the astonished cries of the onlookers as Ingrahsu hurtled down towards the earth.

He watched her near, then opened his mouth to unleash the cut of a shout, the blade that would slice her wings from the sky. This wouldn't even be a challenge.

"What did he say?" Frodnar asked, kicking his boots together in excitement. "Did he use the dragon language?"

"You're not letting me finish," Auldan said, amused.

"Is it a secret?" This from Dorthe, who was pretending not be equally enthralled by the story. "Or do you just not know?"

"Do you think I was alive in the days of Tiber Septim?"

"No…"

"Then you caught me. I don't know what he said. No one knows the Words of Power but the Dragonborn and the Greybeards."

"So are you just making stuff up? Are you making up the dragon language parts too?"

"Well, of course. Do you think I actually speak the language of the dragons?"

"No," Frodnar said reluctantly. "But it would be cool if you did."

"That it would."

The thunder of his voice slammed and tore at her scales, and she spiraled, but did not leave the air. Instead, she opened her scaled maw and blasted him with a holocaust of flame, and he ducked frantically behind his shield, mind hammering. This was not how things were supposed to go. His _Thu'um _felt so weak, so helpless when it struck dragon scales, even though it could blow a man across the ground and bend trees like bowstrings. How was he supposed to use his voice against such a foe? The first dragon he had slain, the weakling who dared to face him at the cliffs of Sancre Tor, had been mostly luck, as its scales had buckled easily under the Dragonborn's hammerblows; but hitting this dragon felt like tossing feathers at a brick wall. The people of the hold were counting on him, and he couldn't so much as bring her down to his level.

He spat to hide his fear, projecting confidence for the benefit of the terrified civilians sheltering behind the city walls, and faced Ingrahsu as she wound through the clouds above like a great white snake, readying another blast of flames. There must be some way to get her down, or at least quench the fire in her belly.

"Couldn't he just lure her into the water or something?" Dorthe asked. "That would stop her breathing fire."

"I'm not finished yet."

"Well, hurry up!"

Ingrahsu hurtled down into view, thunder shaking the earth as her voice burst from her throat. "Yol… toor shul!"

Fire blazed from her mouth a second time, baptizing the trees in eye-searing orange and blue and licking the ground around them. The Dragonborn knelt under his shield, arms shaking with the effort of holding off the ear-popping inferno. He was still fighting to think of a way out of this, something that would not humiliate him, the Chosen One, in front of all these onlookers.

And then, to his relief, Ingrahsu suddenly flared her wings and descended, claws tearing at the dirt as she alighted on a crumbling outcrop. Immediately the Dragonborn sprang up from his hiding place, charging forward with his shield held out in front of him, sword raised high.

Ingrahsu's rumbling laugh pounded against his eardrums. "You think you can best me?" The next blast of flame nearly drove the Dragonborn to his knees, and he felt the shield growing hot in his hands, the leather and metal beginning to sweat. He clenched it as hard as he could through the pain, squinting through the smoke. Her hulking white shape was getting closer, nearly close enough, now within sword range – he reared back with one strong arm –

Then he howled in frustration as she beat her wings to take off again, buffeting him backwards in the process. He couldn't fight this way, not when she could fly and he was hopelessly chained to the ground. It was one of many times in his life he envied the _dov._

He filled his lungs again as she rose higher, desperate to bring her back down.

Frodnar laughed. "I wonder how he did it. You think someone could really fight with just their voice?"

"They say Ulfric Stormcloak did," Dorthe said pointedly.

"Hang on," Auldan said, amused. "I'm almost done."

He said it with force this time, yet the dragon only laughed and shook off the blow.

"The strike of a flea," she taunted, hovering above him. Her shadow covered him like a shroud, the dragon blotting out the human. "Your _Thu'um_ is weak, and mine is strong. Feel the power of a true _dovah!"_

The Dragonborn readied his shield as she opened her jaws, dripping with blue flame –

"Dorthe! Time for bed!"

"Noooo!" the girl whined, turning to see Sigrid standing on the porch. "He was just getting to the good part!"

"I'm sure he was." Sigrid smiled at the sight of them sitting outside the Sleeping Giant Inn, the tall, seemingly intimidating hooded man surrounded by chirping, overeager children. "Auldan, are you filling her head with stories again? There's enough boyish thoughts in there as it is."

"Stop saying that," Dorthe said poutily. "Anything a boy can do, I can do better. And I _like _Auldan's stories."

"What was this one about?"

"Tiber Septim!" Frodnar said enthusiastically. "How he was a Dragonborn and killed dragons!"

Sigrid's expression hardened – slightly, but enough. "Don't let the Empire hear you telling those stories, Auldan."

Auldan smiled benevolently. "What's wrong with a few tall tales here and there? They're not hurting anyone."

"You know about the ban."

"I'm not indoctrinating them into a Talos cult. I'm just telling them stories. Nothing more."

Sigrid shook her head wearily. "I know. Just be careful who comes along while you're talking about the conquests of Tiber Septim. Not everyone will be keen on listening."

"Can you tell the other one?" Frodnar asked, bouncing on his heels. "Tell the one about the wizard and the beehive!"

"Yeah," Dorthe said. "I like that one."

"I think your mother has had enough of me for one day." Auldan smiled at Sigrid, who beckoned Dorthe inside. "Besides, my voice is getting tired."

"Will you come back tomorrow and tell more stories?" Frodnar looked up hopefully as Auldan stood, dusting off his cloak. "You'll still be here, won't you?"

"Of course I will." Auldan knelt down to pet Stump's head, and the dog panted happily.

Frodnar tilted his head. "Hey, Auldan?"

"Yes?"

"How do you know all this stuff? Where do all these stories come from?"

"A lot of books. Have you seen my library?"

"No."

"Here." The hooded man slung his messenger bag down from his shoulder and opened it, revealing thick piles of dusty tomes with names like _The Aetherium Wars, Spirit of Nirn, Yngol and the Sea-Ghosts _and _The Dragon War. _"This is my collection."

"Whoa!" Frodnar touched the cover of _Songs of Skyrim. _"What's this one?"

"This is where some of my stories come from." Auldan lifted the book gingerly and opened it, showing Frodnar the thick yellow-orange pages. "Here is my favorite – the song of the Dragonborn." He cleared his throat and recited, in a way that made it clear he had memorized it long ago, "_Our hero, our hero, Claims a warrior's heart, I tell you, I tell you, The Dragonborn comes."_

"I know that one!" Frodnar said earnestly. "There was a bard who came here once and sang it."

"Yes, it's not very common anymore. It's a shame – the Nords are very fond of that legend." Auldan tucked _Songs _carefully back into place and slung the bag back over his shoulder. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Frodnar."

"Hey, Auldan?"

The man turned, smiling benignly. "I'll never get any sleep at this rate."

"Do you think the Dragonborn will come back?" Frodnar looked at him with a new expression – wariness, excitement, hope. "My uncle says there's going to be another one. He says the war is a sign."

Auldan rolled this around in his mind for a moment. "I think the Nords can be superstitious," he said at length. "But it's possible."

Frodnar laughed. "Aren't you a Nord, though?"

"I look that way, yes. But I'm actually Breton."

"Cool," Frodnar said, with an utter lack of judgment. That was one of Auldan's favorite things about children – they were almost always completely sundered from the emotional baggage, illogical grudges and ingrained stereotypes of adults. He always prayed they would stay that way. There were Nords who had spat at his boots because of his heritage, especially because he had also chosen the path of a mage; those two factors in combination had made him the target of some rather unsavory remarks. Fortunately, he was also quite good with a bow, and the large longbow strapped to his back tended to deflect most outright threats.

"Well, I really should get going," Auldan said, smiling as Frodnar made the obligatory "awwww!"

"Okay," the boy groused. "Good night."

"Good night, Frodnar."

They parted ways, Stump trotting cheerily along behind Frodnar. Auldan looked around the village one last time, as though checking for eavesdroppers, before quietly entering the Sleeping Giant, the door shutting with a gentle _thud _behind him.

The moment he entered, he knew something was up. To be specific, that thing was Orgnar – he was up out of his chair and shouting at a burly, armor-clad man whose face Auldan couldn't see from this angle.

"I know you stole it!" the Nord yelled, waving a meaty finger like an executioner's knife. "If you don't give it back right now I'm calling the guards!"

"Easy!" the man snapped back. "There's plenty of sweetrolls like this in Skyrim – how do you know this one is stolen?"

"Because I _saw you steal it!"_

"Take it easy! Did you actually see me do it? How do you know it wasn't someone else?"

"You've got that damn stovepot on your head! I would recognize you anywhere."

"Anyone could wear a helmet like this, not just me."

"Stop stalling! I know it was you!"

Auldan coughed, feeling a need to intervene; Orgnar could have quite a temper, and he had no desire to see broken teeth strewn across the floorboards the next time he walked in for a drink. "Pardon me."

Orgnar turned to glare at him. "Good, you're still here. Will you please tell him to give back my stolen merchandise before I knock his lights out?"

"I didn't steal it," the man said stubbornly, turning so Auldan could see him. He was immediately recognizable as a Nord; the shield-corner jaw, burning blue eyes and horned helmet could not belong to anyone else. His blond hair was threaded in the tiny, witches'-finger braids that all Nords seemed fond of, and he was currently looking much more muscular, tall and intimidating than the slightly-less-burly Breton liked to admit.

"Orgnar, did you actually see the theft?" Auldan asked, silently wondering if the warhammer and swords slung across the man's back had any Breton blood on them. "Was it him?"

"_Yes! _For the love of Ysmir, I saw the man pick up that sweetroll and walk away without paying for it. Do you need any more proof than that?"

"Did anyone else see it?"

"Well – as a matter of fact, Embry's been here the whole time." Orgnar raised his voice, calling to the slightly-drunk-looking man who sat glaring at his empty mug in the corner. "Hey! Did you see this man steal a sweetroll a little while ago?"

"Yeah," Embry said grumpily, his gaze never leaving the mug. "I thought you were taking care of it."

Orgnar slammed his fist on the counter in triumph. "Told you! Now give it back."

"_Fine._" The Nord thrust the roll at him in a way that suggested it had done him a great personal wrong. "Have the damn sweetroll back. It's only two septims, I thought you wouldn't miss it."

"It's the _principle _of the thing that matters, not the price," Orgnar snarled, plucking the roll out of the Nord's hands. "I'll be taking this back now. Although I probably can't sell it, since it's got the stink of your thieving hands all over it."

"Hey, you watch your –"

"There," Auldan said hastily. "The debt is settled now. No one is going to start any fights, all right?"

"Only if he gets his ass out of my inn," Orgnar intoned flatly.

The Nord glared. "Fine. I wouldn't want to stay in this garbage heap anyway."

"Yeah, go stay somewhere where you can put your smelly paws all over the counter. Try Riften!" Orgnar shouted at his retreating back. Then, to Auldan, "Your generation is so frustrating, you know that? Just think you're entitled to everything. Not you, of course, but some people."

"Right," Auldan said, amused. "Who was that man?"

"Think I know? All I know is he stole from me, and that means he's never allowed back." Orgnar spat on the floor. "Good riddance, I say. He can take his thieving backside straight to Sovngarde for all I care."

"Did he come here today?"

"I don't know. What, you think I keep track of everyone who comes in here?"

"No, but I know you, and you always know more than you're saying."

"Look, he arrived this morning by carriage, I've never seen him before, and he's dressed like he thinks a platoon of hagravens is going to drop out of the sky at any moment, so I'm guessing he's a mercenary or one of those adventuring types. That's all I know, all right? Now are you going to stand there pestering me or buy something?"

"And?" Auldan knew there was more, and sure enough, the huge Nord relented.

"…And he was asking about a golden claw. Don't know why he wants it, but I think I saw something like that down at the trader's. Wonder if that's where he's headed next."

"Thank you. You've been very helpful."

"You going to buy something?"

Auldan smiled. "Well, I suppose I wouldn't mind a room for the night. And how many of those sweetrolls do you have back there?"

"Finally, an honest customer." Orgnar motioned to a door on the far side of the room. "That bed is ten septims. Sweetrolls are two apiece."

"Sounds like a good deal to me." The Breton faithfully counted out his septims and slid them across the table. "And tomorrow I'll take three rolls, in a bag if you can. Good night, Orgnar."

"Good night, Auldan." The big Nord watched the wizard-ranger head off to his room, a little curious as to what he was doing back in Riverwood. Of course, he'd grown up here and the place had sentimental value to him; but now, in the height of a bloody civil war, seemed like an odd time to come visiting home, especially since there wasn't much here to see. What had drawn him back? Closure, lost love, money, fame? Or just curiosity?

_Whatever it is, I hope he finds it, _the Nord mused, arranging glasses on the back counter. _He's a pleasant fellow, always good with the children._

The next thought curled through his mind slowly, making his deft fingers pause on the rim of a wineglass. _I wonder if he's heard about Helgen._

Everyone had, of course; it seemed like Hilde in particular could talk about nothing else. She rattled on about dragons to anyone who would listen, whispering about the great black wraith that she alone had seen and waving her thin, ragged hands in the air like a hagraven to illustrate her horrific vision. "It had wings like a tempest, a breath like a storm. When it spoke, its voice shook the mountains! The Greybeards themselves must be trembling in their beds!"

_Foolish talk of a foolish old woman, _he thought. But it unnerved him nonetheless.

One good night's rest and a hearty farewell later, Auldan was heading down the street with a bag of fresh sweetrolls in hand and the morning sun warming his black cloak, mulling over the appearance of an iron-helmeted stranger in his quiet little town. Granted, he traveled quite a bit these days, and things had changed in his most recent absence. Frodnar and Dorthe began crawling, then running, then following along behind him begging for sweetrolls; houses were built, forges lit, and men and women he called family had gone to Sovngarde, or wherever it was the Nords believed the spirits went. But no matter how different it seemed nowadays – a little darker, perhaps, a little more solemn – Riverwood was still his childhood home, and anything that disturbed the peace was worth investigating.

Like, say, a thieving Nord who dressed and talked like an adventurer but had the shifty eyes of a Riften pickpocket. Auldan didn't like the look of that one at all, any more than the Whiterun guards had liked the look of him the first time he'd wandered into the city in his wizard robes. He found himself wondering what the man could want with a golden claw; he couldn't recall the trader ever having something like that on his last visit, so it must have been a recent addition. But where on earth would the smooth-talking, mostly harmless Lucan have picked up such a thing?

He waved hello to Hilde, who snapped back, "Comb your hair!" Then he spotted Frodnar and Dorthe weaving through the streets, nimble as frostbite spiders spinning webs, filling the solemn atmosphere of Riverwood with their laughter and running footsteps.

"You can't catch me!" Dorthe sang, darting behind Riverwood Trader to avoid Frodnar.

"Get her, Stump!" Frodnar called, running after her. The dog looked up tiredly, blinked once, and laid its head back down. Auldan smiled at the weary old beast, so big he might have been half-skeever but with a soft tongue and happy eyes; the Breton had always had a soft spot for animals. Noticing his interest, Stump struggled to his feet and wandered over to the wizard-ranger, who knelt down to ruffle his scruffy ears and slip him a bit of jerky from his travel rations. The dog wolfed it down happily and nosed Auldan's hand for more.

"Sorry, friend, that's all I have." Auldan tangled his fingers in the dog's fur, wishing not for the first time that he could find such a loyal companion. The dog followed Frodnar everywhere like a raggedy shadow, never leaving his side even when the boy slept.

On their second circuit through the town Dorthe spotted Auldan and waved. "Hi, Auldan! Want to play tag?"

He smiled and rose to his feet, shrugging off his messenger bag and leaving it on the Sleeping Giant's porch. "I'm going to get you!"

"Ahhh!" She fled like a startled fox, and he ran after her with Stump hot on his heels, their feet pounding the cobblestones. Despite wearing a dress, she was remarkably fast, but she gave her position away with her taunting and giggling. Frodnar elected to hide behind barrels, crates and wagons, laughing and sprinting off when Auldan got too close.

Alvor, the blacksmith, stopped to watch the Breton chase the children around, chuckling to himself. Who would have thought the grim-looking ranger-wizard, so serious in his youth, would turn out to be a gentle storyteller who took time out of his day to play games with children?

When the game finally wound down, and Dorthe plopped down on a step in exhaustion, Auldan opened his bag and offered her one of his sweetrolls. "Do you want one?"

"Yay! Thanks." She began licking the glaze off happily, and a panting Frodnar soon returned from his hiding place to claim one of his own. They watched raptly as Auldan moved books around in his messenger bag, finally emerging with a thick tome that he opened and laid on his lap.

"What's that one?" Frodnar asked. "It looks old."

Auldan showed them the peeling yellow cover, faintly branded with the emblem of a silver dove. "It's a spell tome. I use these to learn magic."

"Show us a spell!" Dorthe said earnestly. "A really cool one!"

"Yeah, can you make things invisible? That would be great for my pranks." Frodnar grinned fiendishly. "No one would see me coming."

Auldan glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then snapped his fingers. A tiny ball of blue light winked to life in his hand, hovering just above his shoulder like a will-o'-wisp. "This one is called _magelight._"

"It's so pretty!" Dorthe breathed. She reached out to touch it, and giggled as it flickered out. "Another one! Do another one!"

Auldan obediently clicked his fingers again, then waved his hand, making the magelight dance in circles around Dorthe. She tried to grab it, laughing. "Stop that!"

"Hey."

The Breton looked up, and immediately shut his spell tome, scrambling to cover it with his arms. A guard stared down at him, hand on her weapon; her face was invisible through the eye holes of her helmet, but there wasn't much doubt who she was looking at.

Auldan stared back, his heart clenching and unclenching slowly in his chest. He could not remember ever seeing guards here before, not even during heavy bandit raids. What were Whiterun soldiers doing here, in a little border town on the edge of the world?

"Watch yourself, Breton," the guard said coldly. "Don't go burning down any buildings with that magic of yours."

"He wasn't hurting anybody," Dorthe said defiantly. "He was just showing us some magic."

"It was a little magic light," Frodnar put in. "That's all it was."

"You from the College?" the guard asked, still staring at Auldan.

Auldan stared determinedly at his boots. "What's it to you?"

"I'd watch yourself if I were you. We don't take kindly to magic around here, especially since your school has a habit of blowing Winterhold apart every few centuries." She took her hand off her weapon. "Good day to you."

The three of them watched her go. Only when she was well out of earshot did Frodnar venture, "Why don't they like College mages?"

"Did you really train at Winterhold?" Dorthe badgered. "Is that why they don't like you?"

"Yes, I trained at Winterhold," Auldan relented. "I am a member of the College. And there are some people who find that fact… uncomfortable."

"I don't think it makes you a bad person," Frodnar said, frowning. "You seem all right."

"Thank you. That means a lot." Auldan put the book away. "What are Whiterun guards doing here, anyway? Do you know?"

Both the children gazed at him, their eyes as wide as a sunstruck Falmer. "Didn't you hear?" Frodnar breathed. "Did they not talk about it at the College?"

"I've been gone for quite some time, I'm afraid."

"Helgen was destroyed," Dorthe said. "Just a few months ago. They've been sending troops here ever since, to protect us."

"_What?" _Auldan's mind reeled as he attempted to process this. It felt like only yesterday he'd walked the streets of Helgen, visiting friends and buying supplies. How could it just be… gone? "Was it the Stormcloaks?"

"They're saying it was a dragon." Frodnar watched his eyes, clearly waiting for a reaction. "Do you think that's true, Auldan?"

No wonder the boy had been asking him all those questions about the Dragonborn. He was worried about the rumors – the stories of the dragon that had laid waste to Helgen. Auldan shook his head, stunned into silence. Had he really been sequestered away so thoroughly at the College, so oblivious to everything but his studies that all this important news had flown right over his head? "This is very bad. If that's true… if the dragons are coming back…"

"What does it mean?" Dorthe said nervously. "Are we going to be okay?"

"Yes, we're going to be fine." He was quick to reassure her, but he had no idea if Riverwood would also fall to dragonfire. _Over my dead body, surely. _"I'm going to figure out what's behind all this. Don't worry about anything, okay?"

"Okay," Dorthe said, but she didn't look convinced. For the first time, the words of the village storyteller held no comfort for her. "I'll try."

"I have an errand to attend to now," Auldan said, rising and adjusting his messenger bag. The dragon crisis made his little investigation, once the hunt for a sweetroll thief, more pressing than ever. He had a Nord to find. "Thank you for the game."

"Bye, Auldan," Dorthe said, and Frodnar echoed a halfhearted farewell as the Breton stepped down from the porch and headed towards the trader's, steeling himself for a conflict. He had no idea if the Nord was even still here, or whether he'd found the golden claw he was looking for, but if he planned to steal from Lucan, he would have another thing coming. The man didn't look strong, but he carried an iron mace at his hip, and he had connections with thugs and ne'er-do-wells all over the hold. Even on his most mischievous days, Auldan had never dared to swipe so much as a wedge of cheese from the wily merchant and his sister, Camilla, the village sweetheart.

He cautiously opened the door, and was immediately struck by the sound of raised voices. "Well, if you hadn't just stood there like a buffoon instead of running after him, we wouldn't have this problem, now would we!" Lucan stood behind the counter shouting at his sister, who stood with her arms folded, looking every inch the offended maiden. "Would we?"

"I didn't see you jumping up to stop him, Mister I'm-So-Strong!"

"Because he was threatening to hurt _you, _you empty-headed nitwit! And now look what's happened – our most prized possession, snatched from right under our noses! I bet the whole town will be laughing at us soon."

"Ah, hello?" Auldan inserted tentatively.

They both stopped at once, seeing a customer. "Oh, hello," Lucan said awkwardly. "How can I help you?"

Behind him, Camilla stamped her foot and stormed up the stairs in a huff.

"Er, I couldn't help but overhear…" Auldan began, but Lucan cut him off.

"The _nerve _of her! Thinking that I could take on a warrior like that. She might as well ask me to wrestle a bear with my bare hands!"

"What happened?"

Lucan sighed. "Some bandit barged in here, held a sword to Camilla's throat, and demanded my golden claw. I gave it to him – what else was I supposed to do? And he ran off."

"What did he look like?" Auldan had a sick feeling in his stomach. He should have stopped him, should have recognized the signs. "Was he a Nord?"

"Oh no, he was a Dunmer."

Auldan sagged with relief. The claw was still missing, naturally, but at least he didn't have to blame himself for it. "Did you see which way he went?"

"Yes, I did. Straight towards Bleak Falls Barrow."

Auldan's blood turned to ice. _Oh no. _"You don't seriously think…"

"Funny, some big Nord came in here last night, just before the claw was stolen. He wanted to buy it from me, but he didn't have enough money, so I sent him away. You don't think the two are connected, do you? You think maybe he sent a hired man in to swipe it?"

"I don't think so, but it's possible." Auldan shook his head to clear the cobwebs, make himself think things through. "Listen, if you want me to try and get the claw back…" He was already orchestrating a plan in his mind, mentally equipping himself with the gear he would need and trying to recall the layout of the place from when he'd explored it with Ralof as a child. The two had made a habit of sneaking out during the night, and their adventure in the barrows had almost cost them their lives and sanity; they swore never to go back there again, not even as adults, and since then Auldan had never laid a hand on those great doors. He hadn't even been tempted when rumors of draugr, treasure and magical artifacts inside began to spread. That was how much he despised the place.

But now he was being asked to go back there, to the infested, dark boneyard that haunted his nightmares. Why couldn't the bandits have laired in a forest somewhere, or a nice cavern by a lake, instead of a forbidding crypt high on the mountaintops?

Nevertheless, there was a dragon crisis going on, and now seemed as good a time as any to shake off old fears. It was time to venture back into that nightmarish crypt and finish off the darkness within, once and for all. He would need preparations, of course – supplies, ingredients, potions…

The door slammed, startling Auldan out of his thoughts. He turned, expecting Orgnar, or a courier, or the overly suspicious guard from earlier, come back to question him again. But to his mixed surprise and horror, it was the Nord who had stolen the sweetroll, clad in his iron armor and still carrying his weapons. _Does this man ever take a break?_

The Nord entered and kicked the door shut behind him. "I hear you've had a robbery," he said, with no preamble. "Where are they? I'll get back what they stole from you."

Lucan stared. "And just who might you be?"

The Nord did not smile. "Fredrik." Then, at Lucan's still-incredulous look, "I'm an adventurer. I'll tear apart whoever you tell me to."

"Oh," Lucan said, apparently flustered. He looked between the slight Breton and the massive Nord, as though mentally sizing them up, before settling on the Nord. Auldan tried not to look offended. "Yes, well. I would appreciate some help. The thief stole my golden claw and went to Bleak Falls Barrow."

"_What?" _The cry that tore from the Nord's throat startled them both. "He took the claw?"

"Yes, he did. I thought perhaps that might interest you, seeing as you were so interested in it yesterday –"

"I'll see you later." Fredrik started to leave, then paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Also, do you know if anyone here is for hire? I need someone to carry my things."

Auldan didn't hesitate. "I'm available." He wasn't sure if he was intending to keep an eye on the Nord, or just hungry for some adventure after a few days of relaxing in inns. "I'll work for cheap."

"You," Fredrik repeated, disbelievingly. "Help me."

"Well, that's the idea…"

The Nord snorted. "I don't need help from _you. _You ratted me out earlier to that innkeeper."

"Yes, well, you were stealing."

"It was just a sweetroll! No one was going to miss it."

"Look, I was just helping you out. Orgnar can get angry, and you don't want to see him when he's angry."

"Yeah, well, I could have taken him."

"I'm sure you could have. I was just being proactive."

Fredrik scowled. Auldan was sure he was going to say no, but then, to his surprise, he said tersely, "You won't bother me?"

"Not even a little," Auldan said solemnly.

"And you won't complain?"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"…Fine. You're hired. Just carry this, and don't get in my way." Fredrik thrust his bag at Auldan, who caught it hastily, gasping as the air was forced out of his lungs. _What do you have in here, a horker?_ Nevertheless, he kept a straight face as Fredrik clumped down the steps, assorted swords and warhammers rattling on his back, still looking sullen. He only briefly turned to hold the door open, so the staggering Breton could descend the steps. "And I want one of those sweetrolls you have there," he said, as Auldan righted himself and tried to nonchalantly ensure his left lung was still working. "For compensation."

"Here." Auldan proffered the last sweetroll hopefully, and Fredrik took it, still muttering about how physically and mentally superior he was to Orgnar in every way. "So you know where we're going?"

"Of course I know where we're going. You think I'm an imbecile just because I wear armor?"

Auldan waited patiently.

Fredrik looked left, then right, then left again. Then he ground his teeth. "Okay, maybe I don't know where we're going. Lead the way, will you?"

"Gladly." The Breton took the lead, and the massive Nord tromped after him, still growling about how it was just a few septims and the man probably made enough to buy a house in Sovngarde. For a man who had asked Auldan not to complain, he was certainly doing an awful lot of complaining.

The road to Bleak Falls Barrow wound around the mountain slowly and lazily, cutting sharp across rocky fords, wolf dens and skeever hollows; Auldan knew from experience that the trek would be long, frustrating and cold enough to make even a hardy Nord shiver. Adding to his general malaise was the fact that he had no shortage of scintillating conversation and casual racial profiling to enjoy, because it took exactly ten seconds for Fredrik to ask, "So you're a Breton?"

Auldan sighed. _Here we go. _"Yes."

"You come from High Rock?"

"Yes, but I've spent most of my life in Skyrim."

"Oh." Then, a few steps later, "In Riverwood?"

"…No, but I grew up there. I still consider it my home."

"Are you a wizard?"

"Yes, I trained at the College of Winterhold."

"You have one of those funny last names?"

"My last name is Metonius, if that's what you mean."

"Weird." Fredrik's boots crunched in the snow.

"Yes," Auldan said drily. "I imagine it is."

"What was that like?"

"Hm?"

"Growing up in Riverwood, not being a Nord."

"It was hard," Auldan said, surprised that the seemingly emotionless Nord was taking an interest at all. "Not everyone accepted me, but I made friends. Me and Ralof got along when we were younger – but he's taken a side in the war now, and I refuse to choose between bigots and dictators, so we're not close anymore."

"Mm."

"Where did you grow up, Fredrik?"

The Nord grunted. "Whiterun."

"That's interesting."

"Mm-hm."

The rest of their trek went in silence; Fredrik stalwartly ignored the gradually increasing slope of the mountainside, while Auldan busied himself with trying to find a comfortable position for Fredrik's massive, hefty pack. First he tried just carrying it on his back, but his spine began to crackle and he switched to carrying it over his shoulder. Then his shoulder stabbed and complained, so he settled for awkwardly slinging it half over his back, half over his shoulder in an effort to evenly distribute the pain. Hopefully he could drop this in a dark corner somewhere when they reached Bleak Falls Barrow, but he doubted that Fredrik would let him – he'd been hired to carry the man's burdens, after all. His extremely heavy, logistically frustrating burdens.

Suddenly Fredrik stopped. "This is it, right?"

"Yes, we're here." There were the towering grey monuments, looking for all of Skyrim like a giant, frozen ribcage half-buried in the snow. Acid rose in Auldan's throat as his gaze slid over the all-too-familiar carved stones, the cut-stone steps and gaping maw that led into the dungeon's depths. He hadn't missed this place, and it never failed to crop up in his nightmares. "Welcome to Bleak Falls Barrow."

"It's smaller than I expected," Fredrik said dismissively. "Given all the townspeoples' stories."

"I think you'll reconsider once we're inside." Nevertheless, Auldan had to admit it wasn't quite as terrifying through adult eyes. To his younger self, those looming juts of stone had seemed to brush the sky and command the world; but now there was something sad about them, like a thing long dead. "Now, this is an ancient Nordic burial ground, so there will be draugr – I can promise you that. And there are plenty of other darkness-loving creatures that make their homes here."

"Easy," Fredrik declared, already striding up the obsidian steps. "They'll all fall under my hammer."

"And remember there are bandits here, too. Including the one who stole the claw."

"Uh-huh."

"There might even be frostbite spiders, or – _what are you doing?"_

Fredrik stopped to blink at him, his foot on a step. "I'm going inside."

"Don't you think we might need a plan?"

"I have a plan," the Nord said, staring at Auldan as though he was a particularly dull child. "Find the bandit who stole the claw and kill him."

"And if we run into monsters?"

"Kill those, too."

"Traps?"

"Dodge them."

Auldan shook his head, unsure whether to be incredulous or annoyed at himself for expecting anything different. He never went anywhere without preparation, let alone an ancient burial ground teeming with corpses who hadn't quite made it to Sovngarde; but in true Nordic fashion, Fredrik seemed ready to smash first and work out the details later. "You sound very sure of yourself."

"This isn't my first dungeon," Fredrik said, scowling. "I'll be fine. Now come on."

"…Fine," Auldan relented, starting up the stairs. "But if we both die in there, I'm blaming you."

Hopefully the man knew what he was doing, he thought grimly. Otherwise this Nordic burial chamber might gain its first Breton.

Snow crunched under their boots as they approached those yawning iron doors, handles crusted with frost and rust. Nothing stirred but the wind, yet Auldan felt distinctly uneasy as they stood before the entrance to the barrow, as though he'd just stomached some bad ale. His grandmother used to say that his family, the proud members of House Metonius, were just as attuned to spirits as magic, and could lift the veil between the world of light and the white abyss; and if Auldan had been superstitious, which he wasn't, he would have vowed on her grave that there was a moldering presence behind those doors, a lurking shadow. And if he had also believed in ghosts, which was of course preposterous, he would have sworn there was something in Bleak Falls Barrow that made his very soul shiver. "Fredrik –" he started, as the Nord reached for the handle.

The warrior gave him a very patient look. "Yes?"

"Do you… feel strange?"

"No," Fredrik said, clearly under the impression that the man sworn to carry his burdens had forgotten his mind somewhere on the road. "Not at all."

"…All right then." Auldan watched as Fredrik heaved open the huge iron doors, feeling an odd twisting sensation in his throat. What was he expecting to find? Leering corpses, skulls impaled on spears, fresh bloodstains on the walls?

Fortunately, he saw none of those things. Only darkness loomed before them, somber and complete, which Auldan supposed was better than the alternatives. "Come on," Fredrik said flatly, stomping inside. The Breton had no choice but to obey, stepping carefully over cracks in the stones underfoot and praying that the draugr had all rotted away and the thief had been caught by a trap. Fredrik's pack was getting heavier in his arms by the minute, and he desperately wanted this adventure to be over, if not simply because of that odd, creeping feeling that washed over him every few seconds like ice water. _What's wrong with you? _he scolded himself. _You're a wizard, and a ranger, and here you are cowering like a child. _Yet he couldn't shake the eerie, icy sensation of dread – the knowledge that they should not be here, and the fear that only death awaited them.

_The gods don't like this place, _he decided. _And I don't think I like it much either._

He'd always presented himself as a logical, reasonable person, assuring the curious that he wasn't superstitious and didn't subscribe to the tales of the old gods. What a hypocrite he was. He jumped at shadows when no one was looking, and listened raptly to the stories of witch doctors and deadspeakers, devouring tomes about Akatosh and daedra and draugr slayers. He feared the gods just like any other man, however little he liked to admit it.

But he was horrified to see Fredrik spit on the floor. "I don't fear ghosts," he declared. "This place is just a bunch of coffins. Let's find that claw and get out of here."

"I think you should have a bit of respect, at least," Auldan said. "Many of your greatest warriors and heroes were buried here."

Fredrik scowled, reluctantly. "True."

They regarded the vast mouth of darkness before them, the silent hall of ghosts. Or at least, it was until Fredrik took a cautious step downward; then Auldan heard a distant shifting, a movement not unlike a dead man turning in his grave.

Fear gripped his heart with icy talons, but he managed to swallow his panic, keeping his hold on the Nord's heavy knapsack. Fredrik, meanwhile, was scanning the darkness with a sharp eye, one hand on his great iron warhammer. "Can you fight, wizard?"

"Yes," Auldan said, already sliding Fredrik's pack onto his back to free his hands. "I can fight."

"How well?"

"Well enough."

"Good." Fredrik drew his hammer, gripping it with tight, meaty fingers as he descended. Auldan stayed right behind him, feeling the familiar tingle of magic in his palms as he summoned the inner storm; magicka pounded through his veins, as though his blood was on fire. _Fire and fury, _his old master whispered in his mind. _Ice and blood. That is what you shall give them._

Fredrik paused suddenly, at the bottom of the stairs. "You go first."

"What?" Auldan studied him, amused. "Is the Nord finally scared?"

"No," Fredrik said testily, clearly offended at the suggestion. "You've been here before, haven't you? You know the layout of this place better."

"But however shall I protect myself if the draugr come?"

The Nord bared his teeth, unamused by Auldan's adopted helpless-maiden tone. "Remember who's paying whom."

"Fine, fine." Auldan stepped in front of Fredrik, readying his magic. "I'll be the bait."

They entered the first room, a wide natural cavern scattered with rocks and debris; Auldan looked around, awed by its strange, eerie beauty. But Fredrik was tense as a bowstring, a vein pulsing slowly in his neck. "We're not alone," he muttered. "Stay sharp."

"Got it." Auldan dropped to his knees, ready to sneak, but the Nord had other ideas. He stalked briskly into the cavern, towards the faint echo of voices in the distance.

"…and I says, girlie, that kid ain't mine," an oily voice said. "Gods know she won't be seeing one rusty septim from me."

"Damn right," said a deep, husky voice, and Auldan heard fire crackle and hiss. "You boys want some of this skeever or no?"

"Fuck you, Bronn, I ain't eating skeever," a slurred voice said, clearly drunk. "Tastes like boot leather, it does."

"Well, it's all we got until the boss comes to his senses. Did you hear him with that fucking door?" The oiled voice mimicked a soft, foolish whimper. "_Oh, I can get that door open, I have the key now! I have the key!" _They all laughed, their voices bouncing strangely around the cavern.

Then the laughter stopped. "Who the fuck are you?" the drunken man demanded. "Where –" His voice was cut off by the sickening _crunch _of bone, and shouts rang out, weapons and shields clanging loudly in the bandits' haste to grab them. With a roar that shook the corpses in their tombs, Fredrik swung his hammer a second time, caving in the deep-voiced bandit's chestplate and sending him sprawling to his knees, coughing strings of dark blood.

Auldan jumped up from his hiding place, lightning bursting from his fingertips to electrocute the third man. Screeching in pain, he dropped his sword and fumbled for a dagger at his belt, but Fredrik was already on him. The Nord's hammer burst the man's skull like a watermelon, raining red gore across the campsite and dropping the headless body like a sack of apples. Suddenly the cave was ominously silent.

Fredrik lowered his blood-streaked warhammer, looking satisfied. "They had it coming."

"You are… very efficient," Auldan said weakly. The three bodies were barely recognizable as human. "Do any of them have the claw?"

The Nord knelt to sort through the bandits' pockets, with a practiced ease that made Auldan more than a little suspicious. "Don't think so, but they have gold." He hefted a leather purse, grinning like a fool.

"That's dead men's money," Auldan hedged. "Isn't that bad luck?"

Fredrik scowled. "I thought you weren't superstitious."

"They're your traditions, not mine," he fired back. "I was just pointing it out."

"Mm." Fredrik tied the purse to his belt, and Auldan heard septims jingling merrily. "Well, I'll be keeping this, and the ghosts can try and take it from me."

Auldan sighed; there was no point in arguing with him. "It's your decision, I suppose."

Fredrik stepped over the corpses towards the next tunnel, and the Breton trailed reluctantly after him, watching for more bandits – or, gods forbid, the draugr that still haunted his nightmares.

It seemed to get steadily colder as they descended, a chill that sank into Auldan's bones and made his teeth sting. If Fredrik noticed, he gave no sign; if anything, he seemed almost cheerful, whistling tonelessly with each heavy bootfall. He carried a tune about as well as his warhammer did, and each high note scraped against the storyteller's ears like a rusty dagger. "_There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead_…"

Finally Auldan couldn't take it anymore. "Would you please stop that?"

The big Nord scowled. "Stop what?"

"The singing. No offense, but you're no bard."

"And you're supposed to be quiet."

"Right." Auldan subsided into silence again, watching the Nord as he picked his way through the tunnels. He still didn't know what to make of this man, the walking mountain of muscle with the brutal efficiency of an assassin and the clever fingers of a thief. He was a contradiction in every sense.

"Auldan," Fredrik said suddenly, making him jump. "Tell me something."

"Yes?"

"Do you believe in the Dragonborn?"

Auldan frowned, pondering the question for a while. "I've heard the stories, and the songs," he said at length. "I hope they're true."

"That's a no, then. Figured you didn't." Fredrik noticed a chest nestled by the bandits' sleeping bags, and jiggled the lock. When it didn't budge, he took out a pick and started working on the keyhole, fast and practiced; and at this, Auldan finally had to ask.

"You clearly have experience picking pockets and locks," he said. "Where did you learn it?"

"That's none of your business." Fredrik popped the chest open and triumphantly hefted a bag of gold from inside, jingling it at Auldan. "How's this for a haul? And we're not even halfway in yet."

"Mm-hm." Auldan watched him strap the bag to his belt. "What about you? Do you believe in the Dragonborn?"

"'Course I do. I'm a Nord." Fredrik plopped down on a chair and took out a cloth, wiping the blood off his warhammer. "Let's rest for a minute. Gotta clean the missus."

"The missus?" Auldan asked, bemused.

"My hammer." Fredrik patted the head proudly. "I call her Betty. The only woman I've ever loved. Beautiful, isn't she?"

"You Nords are very strange," Auldan muttered, but he sat down in a chair across from the man; it was nice to relax for a while, and his back ached after lugging the Nord's heavy pack around all day. "Have you taken a side in the war? These Stormcloaks and Imperials?"

"Pah." The Nord spat on the floor. "The Imperials all have elven sticks up their asses, and the Stormcloaks still believe in our _traditions_ and _ways._ Sometimes you have to break a few old norms to get things done, is that so hard to comprehend?"

"I agree with you on both counts," Auldan said wryly, and then noticed the fire had burned out. He snapped his fingers, and a flame burst eagerly to life; Fredrik jerked away on instinct, cursing loudly.

"Warn me before you do that, all right?"

"Sorry." Auldan warmed his hands by the fire, watching the Nord curiously. "So what would you do, if your family made you pick sides?"

"Don't have to worry about it. I don't have a family." Fredrik shrugged, as though it didn't really bother him. "Never wanted one, anyway."

There was something about the way he said it, the offhand, casual way, that broke Auldan's heart. Despite everything he disliked about this man, he felt the tiniest amount of sympathy for him. "Surely you don't mean that," he said. "There must be someone you hold dear to you."

"Bah." Fredrik patted his hammer. "Betty's the only one who matters to me, and that's that."

"I see." Auldan looked at the fire, and then found himself saying, "I never liked my family much, either. I come from a long line of noblemen who wouldn't know a new idea if it drove a dagger up their nose. That was why I left – because I wanted to get away from their politics and their expectations and their plans for me. I wanted to be my own man."

Fredrik nodded slowly. "I respect that. Independence is a good thing, nowadays." Then, eyeing Auldan uncertainly, "Is that why you told me you like Skyrim better? Because you don't want to go back to your family?"

"Yes," Auldan admitted. "Among other reasons."

"Fair enough." Fredrik chuckled for the first time since Auldan had met him, and the wizard stared at him in amazement, wondering what had prompted this sudden change in the stoic warrior. "I never liked Skyrim, even though I grew up here. It's too big and too mean and too damn _cold._ But it's home."

"It's home," Auldan agreed, and for a while they sat together in their makeshift camp, watching the fire and feeling a strange new kinship with each other.

Then Fredrik sighed and rose, shouldering his warhammer. "We should keep going. That damn claw isn't going to find itself."

"Agreed," Auldan said, but studied the Nord thoughtfully as the big man gathered up his things. He suddenly realized he'd seen a new side to the warrior-thief-assassin. What else was hiding behind that stovepot helmet and those grim, world-hardened eyes?

He didn't know, but now something made him want to find out.


	2. II: Iiz Ahrk Qeth, Ice And Bone

The puzzle seemed straightforward enough. Three columns that rotated on their axes, emblazoned with three symbols: an eagle, a whale and a snake. And above them, two symbols mounted on the wall, with a third lying crumbled on the floor between them. Snake, snake, whale.

It was obvious to Auldan what needed to be done here, and so he stared bewildered at the bandit who pulled the lever and screamed in pain as his body was peppered with sleep darts from the walls. He staggered back, bleeding and cursing angrily. "For the love of Skyrim, how does this all work?"

Auldan looked amusedly at Fredrik, from their position crouched in the tunnel behind the bandit. "Should we tell him, or let him kill himself trying?"

Fredrik snorted quietly. "Let him kill himself. It's funnier that way."

And so they watched, trying not to laugh, as the bandit yanked the lever again and again, apparently never making the connection that the pillars and the symbols might be related; he yelped as darts struck him again and again, until beads of blood dribbled down his arms and legs and he staggered woozily as he reached to pull it again. On the fourth try, he gave up and sat down to nurse his wounds, grumbling under his breath. "Stupid, making me come here. I should never have come here. That damn sweet-talking bandit had better give me my pay or I'll break his sad little Dunmer neck... by the gods, I'm tired..."

He yawned, laid his head back against the wall, and promptly began to snore. Auldan and Fredrik tiptoed over to him, and then, in one smooth motion, Fredrik gripped the man's helmet with his meaty hands and twisted hard. There was a loud, sickening _crack_ \- and the bandit slumped down like a sack of potatoes and lay motionless. Fredrik dusted off his hands, satisfied. "Easy."

"At least it was painless," Auldan said wearily, having grown accustomed to his companion's violent way of dealing with problems. He looked over at the pillars. "Shall we solve the puzzle, then? I think it's rather obvious."

"Of course it's obvious," Fredrik said, seeming very pleased with himself for having figured it out before the bandit did. He waltzed confidently over to the pillars, cracked his shoulders, and then rotated the first one over to the eagle.

Auldan tried not to smile. "What are you doing?"

"Solving the puzzle," Fredrik said, as though it were obvious. He walked over to the next pillar and turned it to the eagle.

"Er - are you sure that's right?"

"'Course I am. You said it was obvious, and it is." Fredrik turned the third pillar to the eagle. "The ancient Nords hunted with eagles. They were a sacred animal. So it has to be the eagles."

His logic wasn't entirely unsound, but Auldan felt the need to point out, "Don't you think the symbols on the columns should match the ones on the wall?"

Fredrik blinked at him as though he were being incredibly stupid. "No," he said. "That would be a dumb puzzle. Who would make that the answer?"

"Oh, so it's a red herring, then."

"Has to be," Fredrik said confidently, and strode over to the lever. "Ready?"

"Naturally." Auldan waited until Fredrik's beefy hands wrapped around the switch - and then, moving quickly so that the Nord wouldn't see, he reached out and snapped his fingers, and the three columns rotated over. Snake, snake, whale.

Fredrik pulled the lever. With a loud, solemn creak, the gate rattled open.

The Nord beamed, incredibly proud of himself. "How about that? I'm not so thick after all, am I?"

"No, you did wonderfully," Auldan said, suppressing a laugh as he followed the Nord down the newly opened tunnel. "I'm very impressed with your intellect."

"Bet you are," Fredrik said boastfully. Auldan smiled, unable to hide how entertaining his new companion was becoming for him. He had to admit that he'd started to warm up to the man, just a little.

_Even though he's a career thief with a sadistic streak, _he reminded himself pointedly, _and I only met him yesterday. I don't know anything about him except that he claims he's from Whiterun._ This man had stolen a sweetroll and killed four people as casually as you might flick a fly off your shoulder, and whatever his endearing qualities, that was cause for more than a little concern. Auldan couldn't go getting too attached to this grumpy Nord, else he compromise his objective viewpoint of the man's actions. This was only a temporary partnership, after all - just to see what Fredrik knew about the claw and the barrow and the dragons. Which compelled him to ask, "What do you think is causing the dragon crisis?"

Fredrik raised an eyebrow. "You think I know?"

"No," Auldan said. "I don't know, either. But what's your best guess?"

"Well, if there really is a Dragonborn, all this could be a sign that the World-Eater is coming back." Fredrik shrugged. "But that's just a myth, isn't it? You were the one who told me not to put too much faith in traditions and songs."

"Every legend has a grain of truth," Auldan reminded him. "The World-Eater might not be a myth."

"Pah. Now you're sounding like the Nord." Fredrik peered at the room they'd entered, a small chamber with a spiral staircase winding down into the earth. There was an altar with a few rolls of linen resting upon it - perhaps a mummification site. "This must be the way forward. Down the stairs?"

"Down the stairs," Auldan agreed, but he had spotted something resting on the altar. He picked it up, studying it curiously. "What's a soul gem doing down here?"

"Hm?" Fredrik wasn't listening; he was looking down the stairs, scanning for enemies. "I don't hear anything. I think we're safe."

"Probably, but keep your weapon ready just in case." Auldan pocketed the soul gem, making a mental note to study it later. "Let's go."

"So you believe in _some _myths." Fredrik stepped carefully down the stairs, and Auldan followed, magic crackling softly in his palms; he was mentally preparing himself for a draugr to burst out of the walls. "I thought you were supposed to be the logical one. What's got you all superstitious?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's all a bit far-fetched. But you know I'm a storyteller - even if I know it's logically improbable, I like to think the old tales might be true."

"You tell stories?" Fredrik hefted his warhammer, hearing skittering on the stairs. "Tell me one."

"I didn't know you liked them," Auldan said, surprised.

"My mother used to tell me them, after my father died. Helped us both not to think about it." Fredrik listened closely, but the sounds had faded. "What's your favorite one?"

Auldan stared, incredulous. This was the first time Fredrik had opened up about his past since they'd met. "I always liked the story of Palla. How about that one?"

"I like that one." Fredrik chuckled. "Tell it."

"Once upon a time," he began obligingly, still marveling at this new development, "there was a Mage Guild initiate -"

A skeever came sprinting up the stairs at them, screeching; Fredrik immediately swung his warhammer, and the head crashed against the beast's head, cracking its skull open like a fishbowl. It went splattering down the stairs below in a mess of gore and brains.

Auldan winced. "Must you be so _colorful _with your kills?"

"It's dead, isn't it?" Fredrik smirked at the skeever's scattered entrails. "Now that's what I call a deathblow."

They waited, but no other skeevers came; so they kept going, tiptoeing carefully down to the bottom of the stairs and into a chamber full of webs. The sticky threads covered the room, and from them dangled various urns and bits of furniture. A huge stone altar sat ponderously in the middle of the room, upon which rested a few candlesticks - and a crumbling old book.

Auldan moved at once to pick up the book, opening it carefully. It was a very old tome, he realized, and he read out the first line aloud as Fredrik lifted the tops of the urns in search of gold and gems. "_May I shrink to dust in your cold, wild Wastes, And may my tongue speak its last hymn to your winds."_

"Poetry," Fredrik growled, lifting a ruby to the candlelight to see its gleam. "I hate poetry."

"It's lovely." Auldan checked the title. "It's called _Words of the Wind._ I'll add it to my collection."

"Nerd." Fredrik pocketed the ruby and turned the urn over, looking for more loot; finding none, he set it down and stomped onward, and Auldan hurried to follow. "Lots of spiderwebs around here."

"That might mean frostbite -"

"Don't say it." Fredrik gritted his teeth. "I hate spiders, too."

"Oh?" Auldan smirked, unable to resist poking a little fun at the stoic warrior. "You're not _afraid _of them, are you?"

"I'm not afraid of anything." But Fredrik shivered each time he brushed too close to a web. "They're just animals. Like dogs and cats. Nothing to fear except those nasty little teeth and all those legs -"

"It's all right to be scared," Auldan teased. "Even a big strong Nord like you can be afraid of something."

"I'm _not scared!"_ Fredrik snarled. "Read your damn books and leave me alone."

"Okay, okay."

They snuck through the tunnels, until they reached a place choked with webs; they were so thick that there was no hope of passage. Fredrik lifted his warhammer and swung, but his hammer bounced back at him, and he ducked, cursing. "Can't get through."

"Here." Auldan raised a hand, and fire burst from his fingertips, scouring the webs aside in a flash of flame. "That did the trick."

"'Course it did," Fredrik grumbled, and ducked into the room beyond - then stopped. "Hey. There's our thief."

Auldan joined him, and together they stared incredulously at the lanky, leather-clad Dunmer tangled up in a canvas of webs, struggling wildly to get free. When he spotted the Breton and the Nord staring at him, he lit up and shouted, "Hey, you two! You're here to help me, right?"

"Give us the claw back and we'll think about it," Auldan said, recognizing an opportunity to talk their way out of this. "No one has to die today. We'll set you free if you return what you stole."

"Of course!" The thief seized upon the trade at once, clearly desperate for rescue. "I'd give anything to be out of this mess. Please, kind adventurers, cut me down and I'll give you the claw."

"Sounds like a deal." Auldan moved to cut him down, but Fredrik grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Hang on." The big Nord stared the little Dunmer down. "Your kind have a way of not keeping their word."

Auldan looked at Fredrik indignantly. "Don't be racist. You can't make assumptions like that."

"I'm not being racist, you prick. I don't give a damn how pointy his ears are. He's a thief, and I know thieves. They'll say anything to get what they want."

"...Fair enough." Auldan eyed the Dunmer. "What he said. How do we know you even have the claw?"

"I have it! I have it right in my pocket!" The thief struggled anxiously against the webs. "Please, just cut me down and I'll show you -"

"Which pocket?" Fredrik said coldly.

The thief hesitated. "Now, why would I tell you - _ack!" _This as Fredrik seized him violently and rummaged through his pockets, emerging triumphantly with the golden claw.

"There. Now, was that so hard?" Fredrik smirked as he examined his haul, and Auldan couldn't help peering over his shoulder to take a look for himself; it was a small, golden trinket carved in the shape of a dragon's claw, with small symbols carved into it. A bear, a bat and an owl - it reminded Auldan of the icons from the puzzle room, and he smiled faintly, realizing the solution. These Nords really didn't try very hard with their puzzles, did they?

"Please help me," the thief begged. "You have the claw now. Can you cut me down?"

"No," Fredrik said simply, and smiled mockingly at him. "You'll be sorry you stole this, little man. This is your punishment."

"I _am_ sorry!" the thief said, helplessly. "Please help me! Don't leave me here to die!"

"Fredrik," Auldan said, aghast at how cold the Nord was being. "Help him."

"Why should I? We have the claw now." Fredrik turned it over in his meaty hands, his eyes glittering as he admired it. Then he pocketed it and smirked at the thief. "Have fun with the spiders."

"NO! Please!" The thief screamed in terror as Fredrik turned as if to leave. "Please! By the gods! Have mercy!"

"Fredrik." Auldan seized the warrior's arm, and the Nord glared at him with cold blue eyes; the Breton felt a shiver go down his spine, but he knew he had to stand for what he believed in, and he tried to project bravery into his shaky voice. Why was this man so _terrifying?_

"What?" Fredrik snarled. "Why should I give a shit about him?"

"He gave us the claw, and he's scared. He's just a common thief. Don't sentence him to die here."

They stared each other down, and in that moment Auldan felt their fragile companionship waver. This wasn't the first time he had challenged the big Nord on a decision, but this time it was... different. _Dangerous._

"Let him die," Fredrik said, low and quiet. "He deserves it. They all do."

"No, he doesn't." Auldan summoned all his courage to meet those burning blue eyes. "Those bandits we killed, they were murderers and rapists and gods know what else. And they would have killed us if we hadn't killed them first. But this is a thief who's begging for his life, and you want to kill him out of spite. That's different. That's _evil."_

The word hung in the air between them.

Fredrik stared at him for a long time. Then he gave a long, angry sigh and turned back to the thief. "Fine," he said, and drew a dagger from his belt. "I'll cut him down. But if he makes one fucking move, I'm slitting his throat."

"Yes, please," the thief begged, as he approached. "Please, I gave you what you want. I won't hurt anybody, I swear. Please let me go!"

"Shut up before I change my mind." Fredrik sawed through the webs entangling the thief's body, cursing loudly; when he'd finished, the thief dropped to the floor and scrambled to his feet, thanking them profusely.

"Thank you, thank you, noble warriors, oh, I won't ever forget this!"

"You better not, you filthy snake," Fredrik said. "Or I'll think twice about getting Auldan's permission to take your -"

In a blink, the thief drew a dagger and rushed at Auldan, so fast that the wizard couldn't react in time. He yelled in surprise, raising his hands in a frantic attempt to defend himself as the Dunmer sliced in a silver blur -

\- and in one quick movement Fredrik unsheathed his warhammer, raised it high, and in one clean stroke took the thief's head off. Blood sprayed like a fountain, and Auldan jumped aside to avoid the head as it rolled away across the web-strewn floor.

"Are you all right?" Fredrik asked urgently, lowering his hammer.

"Yes." Auldan nursed the cuts on his hands, wincing. "Not deep. I'll live."

"Let me see." Fredrik seized his wrists roughly, and Auldan tried not to grimace as the Nord probed the wounds; they stung like fire, but they were shallow. The thief had barely grazed him, and Auldan knew the Dunmer would have done much worse if Fredrik hadn't reacted so fast - the realization made him feel a twinge of gratitude. The man's quick reflexes very well might have saved his life.

"Thank you, Fredrik," he said. "You saved me. I didn't react fast enough."

"Yeah, yeah." The Nord deflected the praise, utterly unruffled; he took a roll of linens out of his belt pocket and began wrapping Auldan's hands, with surprising gentleness for someone with such rough, scarred fingers. "Keep these on so they don't get infected. Who knows what kind of damn fungi and bad airs are holing up in here."

Auldan looked at him thoughtfully, studying the brusque, squarish face; and for the first time he noticed the little scars and cuts there, the signs of a rough life. "You've been a warrior for a long time, haven't you?"

"Long enough." Fredrik secured the bandages and stepped back, nodding in satisfaction. "All right. Now let's see what that little shit had in his money bags." He knelt down to poke at the Dunmer's headless body, clearly unaffected by the blood leaking from its neck stump; Auldan had to look away.

"You're really looting him?"

"Yeah. He might have something good. Thieves make decent money in these parts." Fredrik patted the corpse down, searching for weapons. "You owe me one, by the way. Don't forget it."

"I won't."

They were both so focused on the Dunmer that they didn't notice the gargantuan beast slowly descending from the ceiling above them.

Nordic superstition held that frostbite spiders never stopped growing. They could grow up to an inch each year, and according to some no doubt exceedingly brave scholars, their exoskeletons slowly hardened with age until they were impenetrable to all but the strongest hammerblows and the sharpest arrows. They could go dormant for decades, hibernating in deep, dank caves and forgotten hollows, slowly but surely increasing in size. Of course, they usually died before they got too large - but there were some that survived for untold centuries, holing away in ancient caverns and bottomless chasms to grow and grow.

And there was a certain spider who had lived for countless generations. They called it Fin Viir in the dragon tongue; in the speech of mortals, it was The Undying.

Once it had roamed the primal lands of the world, preying on deer and small animals. But then an adventurer had fought back and struck it a great wound, and it had retreated to heal, weakened and dying. Realizing it could not fight the men and elves of its time, it had settled down in some ancient lair for its long sleep, waiting, biding its time until it could awaken, refreshed and healed, in an era full of fresh prey.

That day finally came many years later, in a new age of the world. When it finally stirred from its long hibernation, a giant among its kin, it was still weak from its wound; but it was strong, strong enough to fight and hunt again, and it was hungry. It had scuttled through the caverns of the world and finally made its home in Bleak Falls Barrow, because of all the tasty visitors that passed through in search of treasure - including the two who were now tromping loudly around in its lair, talking and fighting and making all sorts of delicious-sounding noises.

It had been denied the meal of the Dunmer thief. But it was more than happy to settle for a Breton and a Nord instead.

The giant spider they called Fin Viir, wounded but very much a predator of ancient power, its hide scarred from the swords of a thousand dead opponents, its hulking shadow the bane of countless ages, landed delicately beside the Dunmer's severed head, and probed it with its huge mandibles. Then it turned to the two adventurers, hundreds of ancient eyes staring greedily at its newest prey.

Auldan heard the soft steps behind them, and whirled. His mouth opened and closed as he stared at the huge beast. "_Fredrik," _he whispered.

"What?" Fredrik was busy rummaging through the dead thief's pockets. "Are you going to preach at me some more?"

"Turn around."

"Why -" The Nord turned, and then his eyes widened, seeing the massive spider that was slowly creeping its way towards them. "Oh, hell."

There was one long moment where no one moved; the spider sat still, staring at them, and the Breton and the Nord stared back. And then Fredrik drew his warhammer and roared a Nord's challenge, charging with his weapon held high.

The spider met him head-on, and its mandibles snapped at him as he swung at its leg; he missed, and a second later its huge teeth buried themselves in his armor, crumpling the iron like tissue paper. He yelled in rage, and Auldan rushed to free him, blasting Fin Viir with lightning until it let go, hissing. Auldan dragged the Nord backwards as Fredrik struggled against him, bellowing and shouting. "Come and get me, you filthy -"

"Stay back or it'll bite you!" Auldan hurled a fireball at the spider, and it reared back, screeching angrily. "It's too powerful - we can't fight it!"

"Yes we can!" Fredrik roared, and charged, breaking free of Auldan's arms to swing at the spider again. This time it swept a giant leg at him, and sent him flying across the lair; he slammed into the wall and slid down, dazed, as Auldan ran forward to cover him, raising a magical shield as the spider lunged with mandibles outstretched. Its huge jaws clashed against his magic with a loud _thrum_, and it reeled back, making high-pitched sounds of fury.

"Fredrik, come on! It'll kill you!"

"For Ysmir!" Fredrik bellowed, and rushed it a third time, hammer held high. The spider whirled, ready to sink its fangs into this small, barking creature again - but then its old wound seared with pain, and it crumpled, leaving itself vulnerable. With a triumphant holler that shook the cavern, Fredrik smashed his hammer into its face, blinding half its eyes.

The spider's scream of pain lanced through Auldan's ears like a scythe, and he winced as green blood sprayed from the wound and splattered on the floor, clapping his bandaged hands over his ears. "Fredrik!"

"I'm coming!" Fredrik dodged the spider's fearsome bite and ran headlong for the tunnel where they had cut down the thief, and Auldan sprinted after him; Fin Viir screeched its vengeful rage as they escaped through the passageway, ramming its face up against the entryway in a desperate attempt to follow. But for once in its life, its size was its weakness. Its hissing faded away as the two adventurers fled as far as they dared into the tunnels, and then stopped, panting, to catch their breath.

Auldan surveyed the Nord's crushed armor worriedly. "Did it hurt you?"

"No. Just ruined my armor." Fredrik grinned fiercely. "That was _brilliant!_ Did you see how I hit him at the end? Did you see?"

"Your ancestors would be proud," Auldan allowed, with a weary laugh. "That was... quite exhilarating."

"I hope we don't see that thing again." Fredrik brushed green spider blood off his hammer with a triumphant smile. "I bet it won't be so eager to snack on us next time."

But Auldan had a bad feeling that this wouldn't be their last encounter with the thing, whatever it was. "Should we keep going?" he asked. "If we go back, that spider will have us for lunch."

"I suppose." Fredrik shrugged. "Maybe we can see what that door nonsense was about. There might be treasure there, or some of those ancient books you like so much."

"Agreed." He watched as Fredrik moved slowly into the next tunnel, hammer at the ready; and then they both stopped, hearing the same noise they'd heard when they first entered the tomb. That soft, distant rumble, like a thousand murmurs of dead men.

Auldan shivered. "We should be careful."

"You think I didn't realize that after the spider?" Fredrik crept cautiously down a set of crumbling stairs, and into a winding room lined with coffins. He stopped for a moment, taking it all in and giving time for Auldan to join him. "What is this place?"

"We've reached the burial chambers," Auldan said, and couldn't help marveling at the place; there was a palpable sense of history here, a weighted sense of age and decay that pressed on his shoulders like a dead thing. "This is where your ancestors were interred, all those years ago."

"So those coffins..." Fredrik frowned. "Strange thought, that. This place was here before us, and it'll be here long after."

"I've never heard you get so philosophical before."

"Don't get used to it." Fredrik poked one of the mummified corpses experimentally. "You don't think they're alive, do you?"

"They might be. Don't let your guard down."

"Oh, come on. If they were going to turn into zombies, they would have done it by now." Fredrik leaned casually against one of the huge obsidian coffins, grinning. "Look, see? Totally harm -"

With a loud _crack, _a skeletal hand burst out of the stone and grabbed Fredrik's wrist. The Nord screamed like a little girl, yanking his arm free and scrambling backwards so fast that it startled Auldan more than the hand had. "Holy _shit!"_

"Draugr!" Auldan snapped his hands to summon his inner fire, watching in a kind of horrified trance as three of the dead men rose from their tombs, lifting ancient weapons and snarling. This was his nightmare, the same dream that had haunted his sleep since he'd snuck in here with Ralof and witnessed this exact same thing. But he somehow managed to master his fear, readying himself for combat. He could do this. He wasn't a little boy anymore - he could fight them. And now that he was older, and not paralyzed by fear, he suddenly realized that some of their weird, rattling vocalizations almost sounded like words. He strained his ears, trying to catch a snatch of what they were saying.

"_Fin Dovahkiin," _one hissed, and swung his rusty axe at Auldan's head. He dodged aside, then blasted it with ice; it exploded into a puff of ash, and he turned to Fredrik, expecting to see the warrior tearing through zombies in his usual Nordic battle frenzy.

But Fredrik was frozen in place, staring at the walking dead with huge, terrified eyes. It was the first time Auldan had seen him afraid. "No," he whispered. "No."

"Fredrik, come on!"

The big Nord didn't move. "Not real," he said faintly. "Not real. They're not real."

"FREDRIK!" The warrior didn't seem capable of moving to defend himself, and so Auldan had to lunge in front of him as a draugr aimed an arrow at him, ripping it to pieces with a well-placed fireball before it could shoot. "Get a hold of yourself!"

Fredrik ignored him, frozen with fear. "Not like this," he whispered to himself. "Not here."

The last draugr hung back, hissing; somehow Auldan sensed life behind its dead eyes. It looked between them slowly, then opened its rotting teeth and breathed out a single word, the sound rattling from its ruined throat like the last gasp of a dying man.

"_Dovahkiin__."_

Auldan smashed it to pieces with an ice strike. It fell into a pile of bones, and lay unmoving, dead at last.

He looked at Fredrik, who was still shaking violently, rooted to the spot. "Are you okay?"

Fredrik shook his head slowly, as though emerging from a trance. "What?"

"You froze. You didn't help me fight them."

"I don't know." Fredrik gritted his teeth, massaging his forehead with his fingers. "Must've blanked for a moment. I'm fine."

"Do you need to rest for a moment? You looked like -"

_"I'M FINE!"_ Fredrik bellowed, startling Auldan into silence. "Let's keep going."

"But Fredrik -"

"Shut the fuck up." The Nord strode briskly off down the tunnel, growling curses under his breath, and Auldan had no choice but to trail along behind him, wondering what had gotten into the Nord. He'd only known him for a few short days, but already he knew something was very wrong with the warrior, something that went beyond just fear.

Whereas before they were building a tentative camaraderie, now they were both quiet as they picked through the tunnels, staying focused on their mission; Fredrik emanated a frigid silence, and Auldan didn't dare needle him any further, afraid of triggering a more violent outburst. Why had the Nord been so terrified by the draugr, when before he'd showed such breezy confidence? Even the sudden appearance of a giant spider hadn't fazed him.

"Hey," Fredrik said suddenly, shaking him out of his ruminating. "You never finished telling me that story."

"Oh." Auldan had almost forgotten. "I just thought - I mean - okay."

He told Fredrik the story of Palla as they delved ever deeper into Bleak Falls Barrow, sneaking through the tombs to avoid waking any more of the living dead; they dodged a hallway full of swinging blades, stepped around coffins and old bookshelves, picked their careful way through rubble-strewn hallways. They worked together in wordless unity, acting as a team to solve the puzzles and navigate the obstacles, Auldan with his spells and Fredrik with his strength; at one point a fallen pillar blocked their way, and Fredrik rolled up his sleeves and lifted it with a roar of exertion, Nord muscles rippling. Another time the torches in the hallway were out, so Auldan summoned a _candlelight_ to bob merrily by their heads as they walked. For the first time, Auldan began to feel less like Fredrik's reluctant tagalong and more like an adventuring companion, a trusted ally.

And then they reached the door.

Down a long, winding tunnel, lined with torches and with an odd, eerie presence, it lay waiting for them. It was clearly a construction of the ancient Nords, a hulking semicircle of hammered iron and carved markings blocking their path; and on the door were three concentric rings, with a strange keyhole in the center. Three little holes - one for each finger on the golden claw.

Auldan looked at Fredrik, who was already taking out the talon. Carefully he fit its claws into the holes and tried to turn it, but it wouldn't budge. He grunted in annoyance. "Why won't it work?"

"The symbols," Auldan reminded him. "We have to turn the rings." He'd already figured out the solution in the spider room. "Match the symbols."

"Oh." Fredrik nodded, finally understanding. He turned the three rings to match the symbols on the claw: bear, bat, owl. Then he gripped the claw firmly and turned it. This time there was a distinct _click_ \- and the door slowly slid down into the earth, opening the passage. Their final challenge awaited.

They stared into the darkened passage, quiet for a while as they contemplated what they'd done. They had achieved something no adventurer had before - they had opened the deepest sanctum of Bleak Falls Barrow. They had pierced the final layer of its defenses, and now they were about to walk into a place where no man had set foot for ages. This was it. There was no turning back now.

Auldan took a steadying breath and said tentatively, "Shall we go?"

"Yes." Fredrik gripped his warhammer tightly as he stepped inside, and the wizard tiptoed after him. "Keep an eye out. I don't like the look of this."

"This must have been what that thief was after. Do you think there's treasure in here?"

"I hope so, or this whole damn quest's been for nothing." Fredrik frowned then, seeing what lay ahead. "Look. Do you see that?"

Auldan followed his gaze, and beheld a massive wall of stone, with a dragon head carved above it and looming down at them like the face of some ancient god; looking at it gave him a strange, roiling feeling in his gut. What was it about that silhouette that struck a chord in his soul?

Beside the wall was a huge iron coffin, carved with unreadable markings and sealed shut with a heavy slab - and nestled next to it was a hefty, intricately decorated chest.

Fredrik went straight for the chest. Auldan, however, walked slowly up to the wall, seeing the rolling lines of alien writing on it. He laid his hand cautiously on the stone, following the grooves with his fingers; for a moment he couldn't identify it, but then he suddenly realized it was dragon language, the old tongue. "Wow," he said, wonderingly. "I've never seen this kind of writing in person..."

"Hm?" Fredrik was busy opening the chest and sorting eagerly through the contents. He lifted out a pouch of gold and tossed it to Auldan. "Catch."

Auldan fumbled to catch it, strapping it to his belt. "Finally giving me a share, are you?"

"Hey, you helped me all this way. You might as well have some of the spoils." Fredrik hefted out a huge axe next, grinning fiercely. "Oh, I am going to use this."

But Auldan was still entranced by the writing; it was as though he couldn't tear his gaze away. He ran his fingers slowly over it, trying to decipher the ancient meaning; what could it be telling him? What secrets were hidden here, in the deepest sanctum of a forgotten crypt? Something about it was just...

The writing glowed suddenly, flaring to life. Auldan stepped back on instinct, startled, and nearly bumped into Fredrik, who had come over to see what he was doing. Both of them stood in awe, watching the dragon language on the walls blaze with brilliant white light. "What's it doing?" Fredrik hissed.

"I don't know." But Auldan felt very strange; it was as though something in his blood was burning. He looked at Fredrik just in time to see the Nord double over, grunting in pain; and then the agony seized him too, and he fell to his knees, gasping and clutching at his guts. It felt like barbed wire was tearing through him, the words of the ancient language searing his mind. A cacophony of dragon voices assaulted him, but one rose higher than the rest, a primal roar from an era long past:

"_Fus!"_

The voices battered him like a strong wind, and for one frightening moment he felt his mind hurtling away through centuries, lost in time; and then, just like that, the pain was gone, and he sat trembling beside Fredrik, both of them recovering from their ordeal. It was a long time before Fredrik spoke, wonderingly. "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know." Auldan rose shakily, his legs jelly; he could barely muster the strength to stand. "That was... strange."

"You heard the voices," Fredrik said, uncertainly. "Didn't you?"

"Yes." Auldan exhaled slowly. "I've seen a lot of magic during my time at the College, and I've never seen magic like that. It felt ancient, and powerful."

Fredrik frowned. "You don't think it's a curse, do you?"

"I hope not." But Auldan was just as baffled as the Nord was. "I think we should get out of here. We have the claw and the treasure, after all - we have no reason to stay here. Let's get it back to Lucan before anything else happens."

"Good idea." Fredrik nodded. "Let's hurry, before -"

There was a loud _crack _from behind them then, and they both whirled just in time to see a hulking, heavily armored draugr rising from the broken coffin, raising an enchanted axe. "_Dovahkiin,"_ it snarled.

"Oh, fuck." Fredrik closed his eyes tightly. "Auldan?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me when to swing."

Auldan waited until the draugr had stalked up the stairs and close enough to be within the Nord's swinging range, and then brandished his magic, shouting, "Now!"

Fredrik swung blindly, and his hammer smashed into the warlord's breastplate; it reeled back, howling, and Auldan took the opportunity to hurl an ice javelin, impaling it through the stomach. It hissed, and opened its mouth wide.

"_FUS!" _it roared.

A wave of power slammed into both of them like a tidal wave, and Auldan went flying backwards; for one terrifying moment he was weightless, airborne, and then his back slammed into the dragon wall and he lay senseless. He blinked stupidly up at the ceiling as his brain took a moment to reorient itself; he heard the sounds of battle, but was too nauseous to look over and see what was going on. When he did, he found Fredrik charging forward with his eyes closed, abandoning his hammer and drawing two longswords in a well-practiced motion. He slashed sightlessly at the warlord, and the gods were clearly watching over him - his blade struck true, cutting off one of its arms as it clawed at his chest with the other. Its fingers hooked in his crumpled armor for a moment, and its snapping jaws got dangerously close to his neck, but then Fredrik's other sword cut through its waist and it fell to the ground in two pieces. Fredrik stamped on its skull, crushing it into shards of bone and finishing it off.

He turned triumphantly back to Auldan, laughing. "How about that? It never stood a chance."

"Impressive," Auldan admitted, wincing as his head swam with pain; he'd cracked it on the wall. "Ow."

"You all right?" Fredrik grabbed his shoulder roughly, pulling him to his feet; the wizard stumbled, struggling to keep his balance, and reached out, looking for purchase. To his surprise, the Nord offered his shoulder, and Auldan gratefully leaned on him to get his bearings. "Easy there. Take a moment."

"Sorry." Auldan blinked a few times to clear the stars from his eyes. "I'm all right. Just dizzy."

"Take it slow. I'll help you walk." Fredrik's strong, meaty hand gripped him under the armpit, helping him limp unsteadily down the platform and towards a lever. "I think this is a shortcut back to the entrance. Let's hope so, anyway."

"Wait." Auldan pulled away from Fredrik to kneel down by the draugr's body, lifting a heavy stone the warlord had been carrying. It was carved with a dragon symbol, and covered in dragon runes. "What is this?"

"Who knows, but it'll probably fetch a pretty price." Fredrik helped him back to his feet. "Come on, let's get out of this wretched place before we catch something."

Just then Auldan felt a strange wetness on his left side, and looked down to see blood soaking through the right side of Fredrik's shirt. "You're injured."

"It's nothing. Damn thing got me with its axe." Fredrik pulled the lever, and a secret passageway swung open. "Let's get out of here."

"You're bleeding badly. We should stop -"

"I'm _fine,_" Fredrik snapped, and Auldan shut his mouth, recognizing when the Nord was being stubborn again.

They picked their way through the caves in solemn silence, the only sound their soft bootsteps on the stones; and finally the passageway began to lighten, and the two adventurers emerged into the sunshine for the first time in what felt like days. Auldan blinked into the sunlight, wincing as his eyes adjusted; he'd been in the dark for so long that he was nearly blinded by the daylight. "Good to be outside again," he said. "I was beginning to think my bones might freeze in that place."

"Mm." Fredrik headed down the path determinedly, and Auldan hastened to follow. "Let's get that claw back to Lucan before night falls. Not good to be on the roads after dark."

"Right." Auldan looked up, watching a hawk glide through the sky overhead. "Can I ask you something?"

"You'll ask no matter what I say, so get it over with."

"When you mentioned your father." Auldan watched him tentatively, hoping he wasn't scraping open an old wound; but Fredrik didn't react, so he forged onward. "How did he die?"

Fredrik was quiet for a moment. "Killed by bandits," he said at last. "He was a guard of Whiterun. They slaughtered him and hung him up for the crows. I trained hard after that, because I wanted my revenge."

"And did you get it?" Auldan asked. "Did you kill the ones who were responsible?"

"Yes. And then some." Fredrik closed his eyes. "You told me I was evil for wanting to kill that damn thief. But I've seen what bandits and brigands do to people. I've seen the families they tear apart firsthand. I've got no room in my heart for mercy anymore."

Auldan watched him thoughtfully. "I suppose I can understand that."

Just then Fredrik grunted, clutching his side. "Fuck."

"Fredrik!" Auldan rushed to help him, and sat him carefully down on the side of the road, unable to hide his worry. "Fredrik, we need to bandage that before you bleed out."

"I'm fine, you damn... _fuck_." Fredrik grimaced as Auldan peeled back his crumpled armor, trying to get at the wound. "Stop fussing over me. I'm a Nord, I've had worse than - _hell, _that hurts."

"You stubborn ass," Auldan said angrily, as he cut through Fredrik's shirt and beheld the full extent of the wound; contrary to the Nord's insistence that it was just a cut, it was a huge, weeping gash, dripping violent red blood. "You were trying to _walk this off? _This could kill you!"

"Fuck," Fredrik muttered. "Hurts."

"Yeah, I bet it does!" Auldan fumbled in his knapsack for bandages, unsure whether he was concerned, angry or both. "You were going to die for your damn Nordic pride."

"Stop insulting me," Fredrik grumbled, leaning heavily back against a boulder and closing his eyes. "I feel weird."

"You've lost a lot of blood. Try to relax." Auldan cleaned the wound and began to bandage the gash, trying not to worry. "You'll be fine if we can get you back to Riverwood and find you someplace to rest. You need a warm bed to lie down in for a few days."

"No." Fredrik spat on the grass. "I'm not staying at that damn inn. Orgnar hates my guts - he'll send thugs to kill me in my sleep."

"You might not have a choice. I don't have a home there for you to stay in, or I'd offer it to you."

Fredrik raised an eyebrow. "Where _do _you live?"

Auldan hesitated, then dodged the question. "Here and there. Everywhere."

"No, tell me. Where does the mighty wizard make his home? Does he have a vast manor in Dawnstar? A log cabin in Falkreath?"

"I don't have one," Auldan burst. "Now will you shut up? It'll hurt more if you talk."

Fredrik frowned. "You're homeless?"

"What's it to you? I'm a traveling mage. I don't need one." Auldan finished the bandages and sat back to study his work. "Just like you don't need a family. Isn't that what you told me?"

"I've got a home," Fredrik said.

Auldan stared at him, unsure what the Nord was getting at. "Okay..."

"It's Breezehome, in Whiterun," he said. "It's not much. And I still have to clean up the cobwebs. But - you know. If you ever need someplace to stay."

Auldan wondered if he was hearing this correctly. "You - you'd let me live with you?"

"Yes." Fredrik shrugged, clearly unconcerned. "If you need a place, anyway. You don't have to."

"You're delusional from blood loss," Auldan hedged. "You don't really mean that."

"I do." Fredrik studied him. "Really. I do. I won't touch your things. You can have the side room."

Auldan hesitated, sorely tempted by the offer; he hadn't had a real home in a long time, although he'd hardly be telling Fredrik that. It would be so nice to have somewhere to put his book collection, and a warm bed, and someone pleasant (well, _mostly_ pleasant) to talk to. He wondered if Breezehome was close to Arcadia's Cauldron, his favorite place in Whiterun, or if it had a flower garden for him to tend. If it didn't, he was sure he could make one. Would Fredrik really share it with him?

Was the man really offering him a home?

As though reading his mind, Fredrik said, in the most sincere voice Auldan had ever heard, "I know what it's like to not have a place to call home."

"It's just -" Auldan found himself opening up, just a little. He might as well, since the Nord had been surprisingly open with him a few hours ago. "I haven't been able to afford a house since I came here, and even when I could, no one would sell to a Breton mage. They were too worried I'd blow it up and burn down the village. So I've been bouncing around inns all over Skyrim. Every night I'm in a new inn, eating new food, in a new town. Sometimes I miss having a familiar place to come home to, after a long journey or a tough night. A nice fireplace to warm my feet by and read a book and not have to worry about how much gold it'll cost me that day."

"I know how that feels," Fredrik said, and Auldan believed him. The two of them looked at each other, and for the second time that day, they saw kinship in each other.

"Well," Auldan said at length, tentatively, "if you wouldn't mind - I mean, I won't be a bother. I'll stay out of your way, and I'll buy my own food. You can throw me out whenever you like."

"Sounds like a deal, then." Fredrik grunted and closed his eyes. "Gods, I'm tired. How far is it to Riverwood? I don't know if I can walk."

"I can go get help," Auldan said at once. "A carriage, maybe. You're too heavy for me to carry you. But I don't want to leave you here, where the bandits and wolves can get you."

"Mmph." Fredrik sighed, then slowly rose, fumbling to grab Auldan's shoulder; the wizard grunted under his weight, struggling to support his bulk. "I'll try to walk. I don't know how long."

"We'll go slow," Auldan said, keeping a tight grip on him. He helped the Nord take slow, unsteady steps down the road, carefully guiding him back to Riverwood. "You're going to be okay. Just close your eyes and breathe. Try not to think about the pain."

"Easy for you to say." Fredrik closed his eyes and took slow, shuddering breaths; his fingers were digging into Auldan's shoulder hard enough to leave bruises, but the wizard didn't dare let his companion go, for fear he would never get up again. "Fuck, it hurts."

"It's okay. We're almost there."

He coaxed Fredrik on patiently for almost an hour, helping him step over branches and follow the weaving cobblestones towards the village. At one point the Nord started to become incoherent, mumbling about spirits and loosening his grip on Auldan's arm; the wizard hastened to support him. "Fredrik?"

"Don't leave me," Fredrik murmured, sounding delirious; he clutched Auldan's shoulder harder, and Auldan tried not to wince. "Don't. I don't want you to go."

"I won't," Auldan soothed, wondering if the Nord was having some kind of fevered flashback to his past. "I promise."

"Don't go," Fredrik muttered, his words thickly slurred; he didn't loosen his grip on Auldan for the rest of the way, holding on tightly as the chimneys and smoke of Riverwood came into view. He stumbled with the wizard across the bridge, and Auldan guided him towards the inn, encouraging him each time his steps faltered.

"Come on, Fredrik, just a little farther."

"Hurts," Fredrik complained, but followed Auldan obediently into the inn. Orgnar looked up sharply from a conversation with Delphine, scowling at the sight of Auldan supporting the blood-soaked Nord.

"This grubby-fingered thief again? I told you not to come back here anymore, you stove-headed dunce! What, do you want a beating?"

"He's hurt," Auldan said wearily; his arm was starting to ache from supporting Fredrik this long. "He needs a bed. I'll pay for him."

Orgnar stared, taken aback. "I thought you were on my side!"

"I still am, but he needs help. Please, you must have a room."

The innkeeper hesitated. "I have the side room," he said at last. "But only because you're a good sort, Auldan. Just this once."

"Thank you." Auldan helped Fredrik limp through the doorway, and Orgnar watched them go, incredulous.

"Don't know what's gotten into him," he muttered. "Trusting that thieving brute. He'll be headless by morning."

Delphine also stared at their retreating backs. "Isn't that the storyteller? The one who's always playing with Frodnar?"

"Yes. I don't know why he's helping that damn thief, but so be it - he's a good man." Orgnar sighed. "Anyway. What's this you were saying about the dragons?"

"Later." Delphine seemed unsettled; she turned and retreated quickly to her room. "I'll be occupied for a while. Don't disturb me."

"But -"

The door slammed. Orgnar sighed, realizing that of all the strange residents of Riverwood he didn't understand, he understood Delphine the least.

Meanwhile, Auldan laid Fredrik carefully down on the bed, then wrapped him in thick furs to keep him warm. "You need rest. Lie here and don't move, and I'll get you some food and return Lucan's claw."

"Auldan," Fredrik murmured, as he turned to leave.

"Yes?"

"I mean it," he said. "About the house. The thing I said."

"I know."

"When I get over this damn paper cut and get moving again - we'll go there. I'll show it to you."

"Sounds like a plan," Auldan said.

"Mm-hm." Fredrik yawned and nestled into his furs, closing his eyes. Auldan slipped out of the room and quietly shut the door, with half a mind to relax after their long, grueling journey in the catacombs. He didn't drink often on principle, but just this once, without his old master around to scold him, he could really use an ale.

_What a strange man I've come to know, _he mused as he ordered a glass from Orgnar. Fredrik was a walking enigma, and Auldan felt as though he had only just begun to put the pieces together. There was so much he still didn't understand about his new companion, but one question lingered in his mind. One thing that was bothering him about their adventure in the tombs.

The wall.

The voices.

_Fus._

What did it mean?

It had to be something, Auldan mused as he took a swig of his ale. It couldn't have been a coincidence. They'd both experienced the same thing. But by all the gods in Skyrim, what _was _it?

Well, he'd worry about that later. He finished his glass and waved at Orgnar, then headed out of the inn to return the claw, deciding he'd ponder this all when he'd had a good night's rest. He needed to get his mind off draugr and spiders and darkness for a while.

And yet the half-remembered voices in his head lingered, the soft whispers of dead Nords and dead dragons.

_Fus._


	3. III: Sil Ahrk Rot, Hearts And Words

The carriage rattled and lurched on the cobblestones as it made a turn, and Fredrik winced, rubbing his side. "Can you tell him to go slower?"

"He's charging by the hour, so no." Auldan studied his Nord companion worriedly. "Are you sure you're feeling better? We can stop anytime you need -"

"Stop mothering me." Fredrik craned his neck to look out of the carriage, watching the trees and mountains as they slid by. "What brought you to Riverwood, anyway?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"Well, I was looking for the claw. Same as that thief. Unfortunately, he got to it first." Fredrik spat over the side of the carriage. "I hope that bastard is still rotting down there."

"Why did you want it? Did you know about the door?"

"No. I just knew that the claw was shiny, and worth a lot of money to the right people." Fredrik shrugged. "Of course, I won't steal it now. You have my word on that."

"Good." Auldan smiled wearily. "I'm glad you've learned something from me, at least."

"Your turn now." Fredrik studied him. "Why did you come to Riverwood?"

"To be honest, I was looking for someone."

Fredrik grunted. "Did you find them?"

"No," Auldan said simply, and left it at that.

They watched the scenery roll by for a while, and then Fredrik said suddenly, "Why do I feel so connected to you?"

Auldan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've never told anyone this much about myself." Fredrik looked at him searchingly, as though trying to discern some unseen detail. "My mother, my life, my dreams. Why are you so easy to talk to? What makes me feel like I can trust you?"

"I don't know, but I feel the same way about you sometimes," Auldan admitted. He'd been trying to pinpoint the feeling for a while, but only now had he realized what it was. It was a strange, hauntingly familiar feeling of connection, like he shared something with this man but didn't know it yet. "Maybe it has something to do with that wall. The way we heard voices, and felt the same pain."

"Maybe," Fredrik muttered, unconvinced.

The carriage rattled through the hills and forests, and gradually the towers of Whiterun melted into view over the horizon, huge and imposing on the surrounding landscape like great stone giants. Auldan stared at them, remembering how awestruck he had been by those towers in his childhood; now they seemed mundane and simple, the work of men and nothing more. And they certainly weren't impenetrable.

_What will happen if a dragon attacks Whiterun?_ he wondered, and wasn't sure of the answer.

He watched as the carriage drew them closer and closer to those towering walls, and then pulled up beside the stables. The driver waved them out. "Here we are."

The Breton and the Nord clambered out, the latter still wincing and massaging his side. "Thank you," Auldan said to the driver, and gave him a purse, then another coin as a tip. "You were an excellent driver."

The man nodded in gratitude, then snapped the reins and drove off. Auldan watched him go, then turned to Fredrik, who was gazing thoughtfully up at the city walls. "Ready to go inside?"

"Yes," Fredrik said. He took a moment to steel himself, then nodded decisively. "Let's go."

They climbed the hill up to the gates together, and the guards watched them pass warily; but it was only when they reached the main entrance that they were stopped. "Halt," a guard said, and Auldan hastily raised his hands to show he wasn't armed.

"We're not bandits," he said. "We mean you no harm."

"I live here," Fredrik growled. "Let us in."

The guards exchanged looks. "And who might you be?" one asked.

"You've seen me around before. It's me, Fredrik. I live in Breezehome." The warrior glared. "Are you going to open the damn gate or not, ironbelly?"

"Take it easy. We'll just have to check you for contraband, and then you can go right in." The guard stepped forward to pat down Auldan, and he submitted, showing them his pockets; he had nothing to hide. It was only when the guard moved on to Fredrik that the Nord stopped him, snarling.

"I don't need your filthy paws on me."

"Don't get feisty, now," the guard warned, and his companion laid a hand on his sword. "We just want to make sure you don't have any skooma on you, or anything illegal. Whiterun has strict import laws, you know."

"Do I look like a skooma addict to you? Hands off!" The Nord seized a guard's wrist as he reached to pat his belt pocket, and the other immediately drew his weapon.

"Back down, Nord! Or this'll get ugly!"

"Hey!" Auldan said sharply. "No violence. Fredrik, let them search you."

"I don't want them _touching _me!" the warrior snarled. "This is ridiculous! I'm not smuggling a damn dragon under my armor!"

"Will you let me do it, then?" Auldan sighed, realizing this was going to be an impasse unless he offered a compromise. "I'll show them you don't have anything."

Fredrik eyed him meaningfully, and then Auldan realized why the Nord was being so skittish about being searched.

_Oh, hell, _he thought, furious with the Nord for not telling him about this. _You're going to get us both arrested!_

"Look," one of the guards said, irritably. "Just show us your pockets. We won't touch you."

"Why should I?" Fredrik stood his ground, with all the inopportune stubbornness of a Nord. "You don't have the authority to search me. You're probably not supposed to."

"I _am_ supposed to," the guard growled. "And if you keep insisting on being all high and mighty about it, I'll have to arrest you."

"Look," Auldan said loudly, and reached out as though to give Fredrik's back a friendly pat; in the process he hid his hand from the guards, and with quick thieves' fingers, the Nord slipped him a vial behind his back. Auldan let it fall into the sleeve of his robes and moved his hand back. "My friend is just a little tired and prickly, that's all. We've had a long, hard journey, and we just want to rest. Fredrik, please calm down and let the men search you, and then we can have a nice relaxing evening in the inn."

Fredrik pretended to relent, sighing. "Oh, fine." He lifted his arms so the guard could pat him down, smiling wryly at Auldan; the wizard looked wearily back at him, trying to convey with his eyes that they would be talking about this later.

The guard drew back at last, satisfied. "You can go in."

"Thank you," Fredrik said, and waved Auldan through the gate beside him. The moment it closed behind them, he grinned proudly at Auldan and reached out for the vial back. "How's that for sleight of hand?"

"What the hell is in here, anyway?" Auldan handed the little bottle over, and Fredrik pocketed it carefully, as though it might explode at any moment. "You were obviously worried they would find it."

"Nothing," Fredrik said breezily. "Now come on. I want to show you something."

Auldan followed him through the streets of Whiterun, catching snatches of conversation as they went; he overheard the blacksmith arguing about a shipment of swords, and Carlotta Valentia teaching her daughter how to sell fruit at their stall. Two children darted by him like dragonflies, giggling; Auldan watched them go, smiling. He'd always had a soft spot for children, like Frodnar and Dorthe. He hoped he'd have a few of his own someday.

Fredrik, however, ignored the children completely; he stomped up the front steps of a small house, taking out a ring of keys. "Here we are."

"Is this your house?" Auldan ventured, as Fredrik unlocked the door.

"Yes." Fredrik stepped inside, and the wizard entered after him, gazing around in awe. It wasn't much, as the Nord had warned him; just a small little two-story home with cobwebs in the corners, and minimal furniture. There was some makeshift kitchen equipment on the counter, and some plates and forks stacked up in the pantry, but no food; and on the second story Auldan caught a glimpse of weapon racks and armor holders. Clearly that was Fredrik's room.

"I know it's modest," Fredrik said, perhaps misinterpreting Auldan's wonder as dismay. "You don't have to live here, if you don't like it. I've been meaning to get more furniture, and clean the place up a bit..."

"I love it," Auldan said honestly. "It's wonderful."

Fredrik gave him an amused look. "Well, to each their own." Then, gesturing to a side door, "Your room's over there. You can put your books there, if you like - there's a shelf. And a wardrobe for your clothes."

"Thank you." Auldan gratefully stepped into the room and set his bag down on the bed. He heard Fredrik ascending the stairs as he sorted through his books, carefully alphabetizing them and setting them one by one on the dusty bookshelf; he'd clean it off later. Then he took out his folded stacks of robes, hanging them up in the wardrobe and brushing out the wrinkles.

He was just arranging his knick-knacks by the bed when Fredrik came back down the stairs, peering into the room to see how he was doing. "You like it?"

"Yes." Auldan smiled at him. "I'm still in your debt for letting me live here."

"That means you owe me twice." Fredrik raised an amused eyebrow. "Once for saving your life, and once for this. You'd better pay me back for both of those."

"I will." Then, seeing the Nord head for the door, "Where are you going?"

"I have some business with the Jarl. You can stay here if you like. There's a spare key hidden in the plant outside."

"Wait," Auldan said, as Fredrik rested his hand on the doorknob. "There's a court wizard in Dragonsreach, isn't there? Farengar Secret-Fire?"

"Yes. What about him?"

"I wanted to show him the stone we found in Bleak Falls." Auldan rummaged in his pack, emerging with the tablet; he held it out. "Can you give it to him to look at?"

"Suppose so." Fredrik took the stone. "I'll tell you what he says."

"Thank you." Auldan watched him go, then looked around and wondered if he might do some cleaning. After all, it would be good to at least try and pay his keep around here; surely Fredrik wouldn't mind if he did some tidying up.

He searched around for a broom, eventually finding one wedged in a closet; he swept up the cobwebs and the dirt, then cleaned off the shelves and dusted the furniture. Then, because cleaning was relaxing and he had nothing better to do, he set about polishing all of Fredrik's armor and weapons, admiring them as he did so. He'd never been one for wielding such crude implements, but he knew good craftsmanship when he saw it, and he had to admit the Nord possessed a few truly fine axes, swords and hammers.

He was just polishing one of Fredrik's shields when he heard the door open, and heavy footfalls ascending the stairs. "Cleaning my things, are you?"

"I'm being careful with them."

"Don't bother. They've all been forged for battle - you couldn't damage them if you tried." Fredrik folded his arms, studying him thoughtfully. "How are your hands?"

"They're fine. Not too bad." Auldan showed him the now-healing cuts. "They don't hurt anymore."

"Hmm." Fredrik took his hands to peer at them critically, and Auldan was surprised to find him being gentle this time, nothing like his usual roughness; he stroked his thumbs over the cuts with something like tenderness before releasing them. "Don't do anything strenuous for a while, just in case."

"Is your side all right?" Auldan asked, tentatively. "Does it still hurt?"

"I'm dealing. It's not gushing blood anymore, at least." Fredrik shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I came back here to tell you - I showed Farengar your stone, and he got excited and told me it's a big breakthrough. He wants to see both of us tomorrow about it."

"Oh," Auldan said, surprised. "I knew it was an interesting find, but I didn't think it was _that _exciting."

"Yes, well. He looked like the holidays came early." Fredrik stomped down the stairs. "I bought some honey nut treats from the market on the way back. You like those?"

"I do." Auldan followed him downstairs. "You know, I've been thinking about the wall, and the stone, and the dragons coming back. Do you think it's all connected?"

"Has to be. Otherwise it'd be a hell of a coincidence." Fredrik settled down in a chair by the fireplace and took out two honey nut sticks, offering one to Auldan. "Personally, I hope a dragon doesn't come knocking here at Whiterun, or there'll be hell to pay. He'll have picked the wrong Nords to screw with."

"Agreed." Auldan took the treat and sat down in a chair across from him, biting off a chunk of the stick. It was sweet and nutty, like toffee, and he crunched on it as he thought. "I wonder if the dragon that destroyed Helgen is still out there."

"'Course it is. No one's truly killed a dragon in centuries." Fredrik chewed on his own treat in between sentences. "Tell me something, Auldan."

"Yes?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

Auldan frowned, pondering the question; it was a strange one, and it had come out of nowhere. He hadn't been asked it in a long time. "I've been attracted to someone before," he decided. "But I don't think I've ever truly been in love."

"Who?" Fredrik studied him. "Someone from the College?"

"...Yes." Auldan looked down at his honey treat, trying to decide what he wanted to say. "We trained together, and we grew close. But I never got up the courage to act on my feelings before I left. I was too scared, and now I regret it with all my heart. I should have just said, _I love you._"

"Well, you know me. I'm not one to be afraid." Fredrik tossed his empty treat stick into the fire. "I was always sweet on Carlotta, myself. But she doesn't want a man in her life. She's made that very clear."

"The food merchant?"

"Yes. I bring her gifts, and I buy things from her stall every day. But she's determined not to give me the time of day." Fredrik chuckled. "I respect that. She knows what she wants. But if she ever changes her mind, I want her to know I'm willing and available."

"Fair enough." Auldan smiled tentatively. "Listen -"

There was a loud knock on the door, and both of them started; Fredrik fumbled for his weapons on instinct. "Yes?" he bellowed. "Who is it?"

"Irileth," a voice called. "A dragon's attacking the north watchtower. We need your help."

Fredrik and Auldan stared at each other, and it took Auldan a moment to process the words. _A dragon, _he thought faintly. _A real one. Oh, hell, it's really happening._

The Nord rose, his face grim, and picked up his weapons. "Come on, Auldan," he said. "Let's go."

Terror shot through Auldan like cold frost. He'd never seen a dragon before, and until now he hadn't really comprehended the fact that they were back, that they were _real_. And if one was attacking here... "How are we going to drive it off?"

"We're not driving it off." Fredrik opened the door and stepped out, nodding to Irileth. "We're going to kill it."

"But - _how?"_ Auldan hurried after him, breaking into a run as the Nord sprinted for the gate. "Wait! Fredrik!"

They bolted out of Whiterun and towards the looming shape of the watchtower in the distance, and as they ran through the long grasses and waving wildflowers, Auldan felt the first tremor, the first shiver in his bones. Something _big _was coming, something huge and powerful and world-changing. He could almost smell the dragon, its beating heart and powerful wingbeats and its burning rabid eyes -

_Fus,_ an ancient voice whispered in his mind. He forced it down. Now was not the time for thinking about that damn wall again.

The watchtower neared, and they began to see the signs of the attack; scorched patches of earth, dying men, gasping animals. The tower itself was half-crumbled, ravaged by the dragon's claws and wings; it was nearly falling in on itself, and as they approached, Auldan smelled the first whiff of burning flesh and blood. He shuddered. "Fredrik, where is it?"

"It's here," Fredrik said, low and dangerous. He gripped his warhammer. "Your magic won't help you here. Draw that bow of yours and get ready for a fight."

"We're going to die, aren't we?" Auldan could already picture his flesh crackling and searing under the brunt of dragonfire. "We won't survive this."

"We will." Fredrik sounded much braver than Auldan felt. "But first we need to find it."

Auldan drew his bow and nocked an arrow, trying to push down his fear. He was going to fight for Whiterun, and if he died trying, so be it. He watched the skies, scanning the clouds for any sign of the dragon that he knew in his heart was close - he could feel the magic in the air, the scent of fire and blood and death. He could feel the rumble of a great voice, much more powerful than his own, much older. And then -

There was a soft whistling sound, like a bird passing by. And a massive shadow fell over them, enveloping everything.

"DRAGON!" a guard screamed.

Fire blasted from a black maw, searing the earth below; Auldan dove aside on instinct, and rolled behind a rock, covering his arms with his head as hot flames roared over his head. His heart began to thunder violently in his chest, screaming its terror. _Dragon! Dragon! DRAGON!_

"Oi, you big lizard!" Fredrik roared. "Come at me!"

Huge yellow eyes swiveled to stare at the tiny Nord in the grass, and a low laugh rumbled from the dragon's throat. And then, to Auldan's amazement, it spoke, in a huge, rumbling voice that shook the earth like a thunderclap. "I had almost forgotten what good sport you humans make."

"For Ysmir!" Fredrik bellowed, and charged, lifting the shield that Auldan had so fastidiously polished for him. The dragon blasted it with searing yellow flames, and Fredrik ducked under his shield for protection, the leather sweating visibly under the intense heat as he ran at the dragon like an angry bull, getting close enough to swing. He lifted his hammer - the dragon opened its maw, fire licking its teeth -

Auldan fired. His arrow struck the dragon in the back of its throat, and it howled its rage, beating its wings; the headwind from its takeoff sent Fredrik stumbling backwards as it rose into the sky, hurtling straight for Auldan. The wizard's heart nearly died of terror, but he kept his nerve long enough to lift his bow again, aiming squarely down its mouth as it neared, his fingers sweating as he prepared to loose the string. If he was going to die here, he'd take the dragon with him.

The dragon's jaws opened wide to swallow him whole - and then an arrow buried itself in its left eye socket, and it howled, whirling on the guard who had shot it. In a single blast of fire, it incinerated the man, and then turned back to Auldan, its remaining eye wild with rage - panic seized him as he stared into its one frenzied eye, and his aim went wild. He fired just left of its head, and it laughed coldly. "Pathetic," it hissed. "Now die with your brothers."

Fire glowed in its teeth, and Auldan closed his eyes, preparing himself for Sovngarde. From what Fredrik had told him about the place, it didn't sound so bad. Maybe they would allow a Breton there. Maybe -

The earth itself held its breath for one moment, and the air itself shivered. It was the same shiver Auldan had felt earlier, but now he realized what it was. It was the feeling of a powerful _Thu'um,_ a strong Voice.

But it wasn't the dragon's.

And with a mighty roar, a thunderclap of sound, Fredik of Whiterun bellowed a single word.

"_FUS!"_

The force slammed against the dragon like a hammer, and it went reeling, wings askew; it opened its mouth to breathe fire, but Fredrik was already upon it, climbing onto its head with the agility of a master thief and stabbing one of his longswords deep into its other eye. It wailed in pain as Auldan rushed to join him, dropping his bow and brandishing his fire magic. There was something tickling the back of his throat, too, and he looked at Fredrik as the Nord readied to stab the dragon again, and something unspoken passed between them.

And suddenly he understood what it was that he, Auldan Metonius of High Rock, shared with Fredrik the Nord.

He opened his mouth, and screamed what the dead men in his head had been roaring ever since they'd left the tomb, the single Word of Power that had emblazoned itself in his brain like fire.

"_FUS!"_

The thunder of his voice ripped into the dragon and rattled its scales, and it bellowed in rage and agony as the Nord stabbed it again and again, drawing fountains of dark dragon blood. It thrashed and writhed, clawing at him and trying to get him off, but Fredrik dodged every strike as Auldan blasted it with fire of his own, scorching its scales and peeling back layers of skin. It howled as the adventurers stabbed and struck and burned it again and again, and then weakened, whimpering. Fredrik raised his sword for the final blow, and its ruined eyes drilled into both him and Auldan like cold ice.

"I will not die here," it snarled. "To whelps like you who know a simple Word. I will be resurrected again and again, until the end of time, and I will come back for you each time, and I will hunt you until you are dead."

"I look forward to it," Fredrik said, and buried his sword up to the hilt in the top of its skull. It opened its huge jaws, lifted its sightless, ruined eyes to heaven, and uttered a final thunderous roar; and then its snarl died into a growl as it slumped down to the ground, dead. And as Fredrik hopped off its head and went to join Auldan, its skin began to peel off, scales sloughing away; they watched in awe as the dragon withered into a skeleton, and its whispers filled their minds, its voice joining the cacophony of Nords and dragons singing in their heads. And then it faded away, and the bones cracked and crumbled into a heap of ashes.

And all was silent.

Fredrik and Auldan stared in silence at their conquest for a long time. It was Auldan who finally broke the silence, very softly. "We can shout," he said. "Just like Ulfric Stormcloak."

"I should have realized, at the wall." Fredrik closed his eyes, and there was a deeply transported expression on his face; he looked more serene than Auldan had ever seen him. "We're the ones. You and I."

"What?"

"The Nord legends. The myths of the Dragonborn. They're true." Fredrik turned to look at him, with awe and wonder in his eyes. "We're Dragonborn. Both of us."

"But - but -" Auldan stuttered, unable to process. "How -"

"Did you see it?" The guard said it wonderingly, and they turned, seeing Irileth approaching with a platoon. They all stopped and stared at the pile of ash and bone fragments that had once been the dragon.

"By the gods," another guard murmured. "They're Dragonborn."

"Both of them - they killed it. They absorbed its soul, so it can't come back. Just like the stories." A third guard pointed at Auldan and Fredrik, shakily. "The legends are true."

"Be practical," Irileth said, quietly. "Those are just stories. I would advise all of you not to put faith in rumors, and instead focus on the fact that these two are dragon slayers. We can use men like them, Dragonborn or otherwise."

"You're not a Nord, Irileth. You wouldn't understand." The guard was gazing at Auldan and Fredrik in undisguised awe. "You two - both of you - do you know what you are?"

"Yes," Fredrik said. "We know." He looked at Auldan, smiling faintly. "I knew there was something special about you."

Auldan was still standing frozen, his mind reeling; he'd never realized, had never suspected it of himself. What did this mean for him? For Fredrik? If they could kill dragons, _truly _kill them... maybe their power was the answer to the dragon crisis.

As though reading his mind, Fredrik looked at the arranged clump of guards. "We're going to help you," he said. "Both of us. We'll kill as many dragons as we can, and stop this crisis for good. I promise all of you, we will do whatever it takes."

"Yes," Auldan said, realizing his destiny - what he had to do now. This was what they were meant for. What they were born for, even if they hadn't known it until now. "We'll kill them all."

The guards cheered, and the two Dragonborn exchanged wry looks, realizing they were about to embark on the journey of their lives. This wasn't a simple mercenary trek anymore, some odd jobs and adventuring on the side. This was their fate, their true purpose in this world. And now they had a job to do.

"Well," Fredrik said, as the guards dispersed, talking excitedly amongst themselves. "We should go tell the Jarl what happened here. That his city is safe."

"Right." Auldan set off for Whiterun, still marveling at his new destiny, then stopped, seeing Fredrik heading for the dragon's ash pile. "What are you doing?"

"Hang on." Fredrik lifted out a single claw bone, grinning. "I'm going to make this into a necklace. I'll take one from each dragon we kill."

"Fair enough." Auldan smiled as the Nord fell easily into step beside him; it felt so comfortable now, walking alongside each other. They didn't make a fuss about who was leading or who was paying who, not anymore. In fact, come to think of it, Fredrik had never actually paid him for carrying his burdens, or fully split the loot from the Bleak Falls Barrow adventure. "Say, where's my salary? And my share of the Barrows treasure?"

"What?" Fredrik raised an amused eyebrow. "Oh, yes. I forgot. I, er, might have spent the money on rent. And a pair of earrings for Carlotta."

Auldan sighed. "Well, I owe you two favors. So maybe we'll just chalk this up as the first one."

"Fair enough." Then, to Auldan's surprise, Fredrik draped an easy arm around his shoulders as they headed into the city; he waved merrily to the whispering guards and civilians, and as they headed back for Breezehome, Auldan could hear them murmuring frantically.

"- there they are -"

"- could it be true?"

"They say they shouted it out of the sky!"

As they ascended the steps of Breezehome, a little girl in a dirty green dress ran up to them, tugging excitedly on Fredrik's sleeve. "Hey, you! Is it true that you two are Dragonborn?"

"Might be." Fredrik regarded the girl with something like kindness. "You're the one who's always begging for coins by the tree, aren't you? What's your name?"

"Lucia." The girl shifted nervously. "I - I heard you killed a dragon. Did you really do it?"

"Yes," Fredrik said. "We did."

"Wow." Lucia looked between them admiringly. "Are you two a couple?"

"No." Fredrik barked out a laugh, clearly amused by the suggestion. "That would be absurd."

"But you live together, don't you?" Lucia giggled, looking at them with the bright innocence of childhood; Auldan felt a little twinge in his heart. Oh, how he loved children - they never failed to tug at his heartstrings. "And you're together an awful lot. They say you never go anywhere without each other."

"Come off it, you little urchin. He's my roommate, not my lover." Fredrik gestured irritably to the wizard, who was regarding the girl with wry amusement. "Get a move on, Auldan. I need to drop off some things."

"All right, I'm coming." But as they entered the house, Auldan couldn't help but smile teasingly at the big Nord. "What, you don't think I'd make a good husband? I'm a big strong _Dragonborn,_ you know."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Fredrik headed upstairs to drop off his weapons, and Auldan balanced his own bow by the door; it wouldn't do to walk into Dragonsreach heavily armed, heroes or otherwise. "All right, let's go talk to the Jarl. Maybe he'll reward us for our service to the city."

They headed off to Dragonsreach together, and yet again Fredrik put a friendly arm around Auldan's shoulder, walking with him easily; the wizard wasn't sure how to react to this sudden shift towards friendliness and camaraderie. Granted, they'd been getting along well enough since their adventure in the tombs - or at least, they weren't constantly at each other's throats like they had been when they first met - but the man had never been so... familiar with him before. What had changed?

"Fredrik?" he ventured.

"Hm?" Fredrik squeezed his shoulder good-naturedly. "What's up?"

"You're being awfully nice to me."

"Would you rather I wasn't?"

"No, it's just - this isn't how you were in the tomb. Or when I first met you."

Fredrik pondered this for a while, his blue eyes thoughtful. "I'm cold with strangers," he said at length. "It takes me a while to trust people. Part of how I grew up. But I know I can trust you. We're in this together now, aren't we?"

"Yes," Auldan said. "I suppose we are."

Fredrik smiled at him. "Yeah." And there was a twinkle in his eyes that Auldan had never seen before. He almost seemed... _happy._

They ascended the winding stone steps of Dragonsreach, and the guards watched them pass, murmuring quietly to themselves about the Dragonborn and the heroes of Whiterun. _Could it really be them? _they whispered. _Are there really two Dragonborn? _The legends had only spoken of one, after all. How could it be that there were two?

Fredrik approached the huge gates of the keep, nodding at the guards. "We're the heroes. Let us through."

"Of course." The guards scrambled to open the doors for them. "The Jarl is waiting for you."

They stepped into the grandiose hall, and Auldan's jaw dropped as he stared up at the huge, vaulted ceiling lined with banners and tapestries; just like in Bleak Falls Barrow, he could feel the history in this place. So much art and knowledge, so many stories... he resolved to learn them all someday. But for now, he had work to do. He refocused on following Fredrik up the stairs, and together they approached the great throne of Jarl Balgruuf.

The man lay slumped in his throne, dressed in fineries and peering at them with a tired expression. He looked old and weary at first, but Auldan could sense the keen energy behind his eyes, the intelligence and wisdom. This was a man who had seen many things. "Welcome, dragon slayers," he said. "We are honored to have you both in Dragonsreach."

"Thank you." Auldan knelt respectfully, and Fredrik hastened to copy him. "It was our honor to defend Whiterun."

"You've done us a great service, and there is only one way I see fit to repay you. Please, accept these humble gifts from my personal armory, as a token of our gratitude." Balgruuf nodded at his advisor, who hurried over to present them both with gifts. To Fredrik he gave a pair of heavy steel gauntlets, and Fredrik grinned as he slid them on, flexing his fingers; they glimmered with an aura of magic. Auldan received a necklace, and when he gently clasped it on, he felt power surge through his blood; this, too, must be enchanted.

"Your Grace," he said, modestly. "These are excellent gifts. We thank you for them."

"I also make you both Thanes of Whiterun, the highest honor I can give you." To Fredrik, "You already reside in Whiterun, yes? In Breezehome?"

"Yes." Fredrik nodded. "It's not much, but it's home."

"I will assign you a personal housecarl, Lydia. She'll be at your house tomorrow morning. I know she will serve you well."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Fredrik bowed his head in recognition of the honor. "It'll be nice to have an extra sword at our backs."

"Now then. Enough of titles and honors." Jarl Balgruuf studied them thoughtfully. "I have heard rumors that you two are the legendary Dragonborn. Is it true?"

Fredrik nodded. "It is, Your Grace."

"We shouted down the dragon," Auldan said. "And we absorbed its soul. There's no other explanation for our abilities, even in the most obscure stories and legends."

"Fascinating." Balgruuf raised an eyebrow, looking between them. "I've never heard of an age with two Dragonborn. This must be a strange era indeed. But I cannot deny that we need the help. All across Skyrim, towns and villages are being besieged by dragons. We've already had reports from Rorikstead and Falkreath."

"Can we help?" Fredrik seemed eager to put his new gauntlets to use. "Tell us where the dragons are, and we'll go kill them."

"If you truly can absorb a dragon's soul, then we will have great need of your help in the coming days." Balgruuf nodded. "I will send you to Rorikstead. There has been a dragon attack there, a large beast. They say it has wings that swallow the sun itself."

"We're not afraid," Auldan said confidently, looking at Fredrik for support; the big Nord punched his fist into his hand, grinning fiercely at the prospect of the hunt. "We'll take it down."

"I hope you will. We're all counting on you now."

They left Dragonsreach together, Fredrik nearly bursting with excitement. "We'll have _two _dragons under our belt," he said earnestly, as Auldan looked at him in deep amusement. "Look at us! A few days ago, I was just a mercenary. And now I'm the Dragonborn!"

_"One_ of the Dragonborn," Auldan reminded him, playfully. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Yeah, yeah." Fredrik beamed. "My father would be proud. I can feel him smiling down on me from Sovngarde."

That reminded Auldan of something he'd been meaning to ask. "Do you have a surname, Fredrik?"

"Me?" Fredrik shrugged. "No, I got rid of it a long time ago. I'm just Fredrik of Whiterun now."

"Well, after all this Dragonborn business, I think you might need one." Auldan pondered for a while. "How about Fredrik Dragonsbane?"

"No, no. I don't like it."

"What, it's not cool enough for you?"

"Well, it has to be specific to me. It can't just be anyone's name."

"True." Auldan tried to think of a good, hearty Nord name as they walked back to Breezehome, trying to think of something that was unique to the Nord. His mind suddenly flashed back to the crypts, the way Fredrik had swung his hammer with a mighty roar and bashed bandits and skeevers into pieces. "What about Fredrik Stronghammer?"

"Ooh. I like that one." Fredrik turned it over for a while, trying out the sound of it. "Fredrik Stronghammer of Whiterun. You know, you may just be on to something."

"See, I have good ideas."

"But it's still not quite right." The Nord _hemm_ed and _hum_med for a while. "What about... something to do with weapons, but cooler. Like Ironsword, or Shieldbreaker."

"No, wait. I have it." Auldan spread his hands dramatically, as though illuminating letters on a marquee. "_Fredrik Hammerskull."_

"Brilliant," Fredrik breathed.

"You like it?"

"Fredrik Hammerskull, Thane of Whiterun." Fredrik grinned a fierce Nord smile. "Now _that _is a name."

"It does have a certain ring to it." Auldan chuckled good-naturedly. "I have one more question for you."

"Be my guest."

"Why don't you want a family?" he asked. "Is it because of what happened to your father?"

He expected him to give some sort of cheery response, or merrily brush off the question. Instead, Fredrik shut down at once, the happiness and bright mood gone in a blink; the old Fredrik was back now, glaring at Auldan with cold, icy blue eyes. "I don't want to talk about it," he said. "Don't ask questions you don't understand."

"Sorry," Auldan said, backpedaling hastily; he hadn't meant to spark such a chilly response. "I didn't mean to hit a nerve."

"Doesn't matter what you meant." Fredrik yanked his arm off Auldan's shoulders and strode off towards Breezehome, leaving Auldan standing alone in the road and gazing hopelessly after him. Why was Fredrik so touchy on the subject of family? He could tell the Nord hadn't had a happy past, but he wondered if there was much more to it than Fredrik was letting on. Maybe there was more than just a dead father.

_I'll find out, _he resolved, starting his gloomy way back to Breezehome to find Fredrik and apologize. _I want to help him heal. Whatever it is._

He made his way through the darkening streets, eventually winding through the market and back to the house. He rummaged in the plant for the spare key, then unlocked the door and stepped inside.

"Fredrik?" he called, tentatively. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say what I said."

Silence. He wondered if the Nord was even there; he didn't hear the man's heavy footfalls. The big warrior wasn't exactly stealthy, after all - when he was in a room, you tended to be very much aware of it.

"Listen," Auldan said, wondering who he was even talking to. "You said we were in this together, and you were right. But I can't have your back if you hide things from me and don't tell me what's going on."

No response.

"Okay. Fine. You don't have to tell me." Auldan headed for his side bedroom, sighing. "I know it's probably none of my business. I'll go to bed now and leave you in peace."

He was just setting his bag down on the bed when he heard a quiet voice from upstairs. "You don't think I'm unlovable, do you?"

Auldan stared up the stairs, bewildered by the question. "No," he said. "I think you're perfectly lovable. A bit merciless and gruff and violent at times, and you have a hard time showing emotions, and sometimes you smell, but -"

"But you don't find me repulsive." Fredrik sounded genuinely worried that this might be a possibility. "Do you?"

"No. Of course not. I mean -" Auldan figured he might as well be honest with the man, since Fredrik had been straightforward with him thus far. Well, mostly, anyway. "I didn't like you when we first met, but now I've gotten to know you better, and I know you're a good man, somewhere in that stoic Nord heart of yours. Nobody's perfect."

Fredrik was silent.

"Listen." Auldan ventured tentatively up the stairs, and found the Nord sitting on his bed, hands folded, staring at the floor. "You're a good man. You really are. I've seen that much for myself."

"You're the first one who's said that to me in a long time, you know that?" Fredrik looked up, meeting his eyes. "No one's been there for me like you have. I haven't even known you very long, but you've already saved my life, fought alongside me, protected me. You've trusted me, and treated me like your friend, not some big dumb lug you only keep around to smash up monsters."

"Well, you're not a big dumb lug. I mean, sometimes you are, but not _all _the time." Auldan sat down on the bed beside him, studying him thoughtfully. "You're a mortal, imperfect being, just like anyone else. You have flaws, and you have strengths. Everyone does. That doesn't make you repulsive, it makes you _human_."

Fredrik stared at his boots, and Auldan suddenly realized, to his amazement, that Fredrik Hammerskull was insecure. He'd never shown it before, but here, now, in the privacy of their home, where there were no prying eyes or overinflated senses of Nordic pride to get in the way - now, at long last, he was admitting to Auldan that he wasn't always the confident Nord he projected on the outside.

As if reading his mind, Fredrik said, "I'm not good at family, or friends. I haven't had either of those things for a long time. I'd all but given up on having a family, because I haven't really _cared _about anyone for a long time, and everyone I've met has been happy to return that favor." He looked at Auldan. "Until you came along. You gave me a chance. No one's ever done that before. You saw how Orgnar treated me, and the other villagers. To them, I'm a big angry Nord with a helmet - but to you, I was just... me."

Auldan looked sheepishly at his own boots. "I - I don't know what to say. I was never good at feelings."

"Neither am I. S'pose that's another thing we have in common." Fredrik managed a weary chuckle. "Look at me. Talking to you about all this. I never thought I would tell anyone about any of this."

"Well, I'm glad you did." And now Auldan knew what Fredrik needed to hear. "You'll have a family someday, Fredrik. I know you will. You just can't give up looking for it."

"I won't." Fredrik rose from the bed decisively, sighing. "All right. That's enough emotions for one day. Time for a good night's rest."

"Yes." But Auldan smiled as he watched Fredrik head into the washroom. "Hey, Fredrik?"

"Mm?"

"Do you think we could..." Auldan trailed off, sighing as he realized how silly it would sound. "Never mind."

"What? Tell me."

"You'll laugh."

"No, I won't." Fredrik picked up a knife and started to carefully shave his stubble. "Say it."

"Well..." Auldan hesitated. "I was wondering if we could stop somewhere, on the way to Rorikstead."

"All right. Where?"

"Morthal."

Fredrik raised an eyebrow. "Odd stop. But it'll only take us a day out of our way. Why do you want to go there?"

"It's... it's personal. That's all."

"All right. Keep your secrets. We'll rent some horses and stop there on the way." Fredrik brushed stubble off his cheeks, then washed his face with a towel. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your mysterious Riverwood friend, would it?"

Auldan hesitated. "Possibly."

"Mm." Fredrik eyed him knowingly. "Well, we both have things to hide."

"Seems that way." Auldan chuckled then, remembering something from earlier.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I'm still thinking about what that Lucia girl said. About us being a couple."

"Ridiculous." Fredrik shook his head in obvious amusement. "Although if this whole Carlotta thing doesn't work out, I'll need to find someone else for my Amulet of Mara. You said I wasn't repulsive, after all - maybe I can attract a woman on our travels."

"I'm told that Lucan's sister is rather charming."

"Camilla? She's a pretty little number, and she's certainly shown some interest before." Fredrik shrugged. "But I'm more attracted to brains than brawn. I like a woman who can fight for herself, speak for herself, and kick me down a peg or two when I need it."

Auldan raised an amused eyebrow. "Oddly enough, I never pictured you that way."

"'Course you didn't." Fredrik smirked. "Who knows? You might even be my type."

The wizard sighed. "Now you're just being an ass."

"Am I?" Fredrik wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe I'm just _incredibly _attracted to your wizardly nerd muscles."

"Go on, then, have your fun. I'll wait." Auldan watched wearily as the Nord left the washroom and laid out his nightclothes. "Tell me all about my draugr arms and my stupid mudcrab-looking face and whatever other insults you've been cooking up in there."

"Oh, I have plenty." Fredrik gave him a cheeky grin. "But I'm saving them for the ride."

Auldan sighed. Much as he had grown fond of this man, he had a feeling this was going to be a long trip.


	4. IV: Wundun Lovaas, Traveling Songs

Auldan stirred drowsily, yawning, to find Fredrik already awake and packing for the road; he bustled about the kitchen like an agitated skeever, gathering food and herbs and muttering to himself. "There you are," he said, noticing Auldan stir. "Do you like beef or pork?"

"Come again?"

"I'm packing rations." Fredrik shook a fistful of jerky at him. "What meat do you want?"

"Er - I don't have a preference." Auldan didn't have the heart to tell the Nord he was a vegetarian. "Anything is fine."

"Skeever jerky it is, then." Fredrik wrapped some strips of dried meat in paper and tucked them into Auldan's knapsack. "More of the good stuff for me."

Auldan smiled, thinking about how nice it was to wake up in a warm, cozy bed of his own in a real house - not some dirty rented straw bed from a half-rate inn with loud neighbors. He'd slept better than he had in years, even with Fredrik's cavernous snores from upstairs; they were so loud that he'd initially mistaken them for dragon roars when they shook him awake late at night. "Wasn't our housecarl supposed to arrive today? Lydia?"

"Oh, right." Fredrik had clearly forgotten; he looked blankly at the door, as though expecting her to materialize there. "I haven't heard her knock. Maybe she changed her mind."

"Maybe." Auldan rolled out of bed and stretched, yawning. "Do you have somewhere I can bathe?"

"Upstairs," Fredrik said, so Auldan tromped up the stairs to shave and take a warm bath; it felt good to wash off all the sweat, dirt and mud from adventuring, the last remnants of their adventure in Bleak Falls Barrow. He took a luxurious amount of time in the water before drying himself off and putting on some fresh robes, taking the soul gem out of his old robes as he did so - he'd almost forgotten about the jewel he'd discovered in the tomb.

He studied the gem, turning it to watch it glimmer. It was empty, he discerned at once, to his faint relief; he'd always thought the idea of capturing souls was horrific. He tucked the gem back into his pocket, resolving to study it, but never use it.

He headed downstairs, whistling idly, feeling pleasantly clean and refreshed. To his surprise, he found that the Nord was gone, and their packs were sitting clasped neatly and ready to go on the table.

Auldan slung his knapsack over his shoulder, wondering where he'd gone. Then he picked up Fredrik's pack, figuring he might as well bring it to him at whatever place he'd run off to; he noted as he did so that it was considerably lighter than before. _What did the Nord have in here? _he wondered, remembering how painfully heavy it had been when he'd carried it up the slopes of Bleak Falls. _And what did he do with it? _Just another one of the Nord's many, baffling secrets.

He headed outside into the half-blinding morning sunshine, squinting and wondering where on Tamriel the Nord might have wanted to visit in such a hurry; and then, as his gaze wandered around the marketplace, he spotted Fredrik, and he was even more bewildered by what he saw.

Because Fredrik Hammerskull, the Dragonborn of Whiterun, the toughest and angriest man he had ever met, was crouched down in front of Lucia the orphan girl, giving her a sweetroll from the market stall. She beamed up at him and took a bite of the treat, and he ruffled her hair fondly, murmuring something that Auldan couldn't hear. It almost sounded like, "Stay safe out there."

Auldan watched, amazed. He hadn't known Fredrik liked children - in fact, he'd begun to wonder the opposite. The man had been stalwartly ignoring the orphans and urchins of Whiterun whenever Auldan was around, but apparently there was yet another side to this confusing prism of a man.

Just then Fredrik noticed him, and stood, hastily shooing Lucia off. "There you are," he said. "I was just checking on a few things."

"Mm-hm," Auldan said, amused. "Wasn't that Lucia?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Fredrik took his pack from Auldan and settled it on his broad shoulders. "Let's go to the stables and rent some horses. I'd rather not travel all the way to Rorikstead on foot."

"And Morthal," Auldan reminded him.

Fredrik grunted noncommittally. "Fine."

They headed down to the stables, nodding to the guards as they went; thankfully, they weren't searched for contraband this time. Clearly the rumors of their heroic deed had spread, and instead of accosting them, the guards bowed and whispered excitedly as they passed. "Hail, Dragonborn," one of them said, and Fredrik grinned with pride.

"Hail yourself," he said, and the guard blushed furiously, clearly overjoyed to be noticed by his hero.

Auldan smirked at Fredrik as they tromped down the hillside. "Is all this fame going to your head already?"

"Of course it is. How could it not?" Fredrik laughed. "I'm a _celebrity."_

"The women will be all over you," Auldan said wearily, knowing that the big, muscular Nord would attract far more romantic interest than he would. "You'll have to fight them off with a broom."

Fredrik chuckled, and Auldan was delighted to see that the happy twinkle had returned to his eye - his foul mood from yesterday was all but gone. "I can't wait for the autographs."

The stablemaster turned out to be a grouchy old Nord called Skulvar Sable-Hilt, who gestured them over to the stalls to look at his stock. Two horses stood blinking lazily at them, swishing their tails and chewing their hay; neither looked particularly strong or healthy, but Auldan liked the look of the white mare. "I'll take that one," he said. "Fredrik, you can have the stallion."

"Fair enough." Fredrik looked at Skulvar, who stood glaring at them and waiting for them to decide. "How much do you want for them?"

Skulvar raised an eyebrow. "For those? They're fine steeds. I won't take any less than a thousand gold each."

Fredik's jaw dropped. "_Thousand?"_

"What, did you think horses were cheap?" Skulvar glowered. "Pay up or leave it. It's up to you."

Auldan and Fredrik exchanged glances. "Well, goodbye, then," Fredrik said, and they turned and walked away, a bit dismayed. Their haul from Bleak Falls had been sizable, but it hadn't added up to _that _much.

"Okay, Plan B," Auldan said, as they stopped on the road and silently wondered how on earth they would do this. "We'll hire the carriage again. It was only twenty gold last time."

"Yes, but that was from Riverwood to Whiterun," Fredrik pointed out. "Rorikstead is a long journey, and it's dangerous this time of year. He might not even want to take us."

"Maybe." Auldan shrugged. "Or maybe not. Let's ask."

They walked down the hill to the carriage driver, and found him sitting on an old tree stump, swigging from a bottle of ale with a sour expression. "Oi, driver," Fredrik said. "How much for a trip to Rorikstead?"

The man eyed them. "One hundred," he said. "No less."

"Oh, _come on!" _Fredrik burst. "We're the Dragonborn! Can't you give us a discount?"

"No can do. I have mouths to feed." The driver looked between them wryly. "One hundred or no ride."

"We can afford that," Auldan muttered to Fredrik, but the Nord wasn't having any of it.

"You're all in cahoots!" he thundered. "Gouging prices on transportation, shaking down the pockets of hard-working people! What do you think you're up to?"

"Keep your voice down!" the driver snapped. "Fine. I'll take you for ninety."

"_Thievery!" _Fredrik went on loudly, as though he hadn't heard him; a passing guard stopped to stare, resting a hand on his sword. "Swindling us! Coercing us! I could have your head for -"

"Gods damn you, fine! Fifty gold!"

Fredrik brightened at once. "You're a good man, you know that?"

"Fuck you," the merchant muttered, clambering into the driver's seat. "Get in."

They set off on their long journey in the carriage as the sun rose higher in the sky, flickering over the mountain flowers and tundra cotton with a dreamy slowness. Fredrik leaned back in the cart, stretching his legs and yawning like a lazy cat; Auldan sat with his legs folded neatly across from him, humming an old Breton folk tune and turning pages in a weathered book.

"Reading again?" Fredrik said, amused.

"Yes." Auldan showed him the cover. "_An Overview of __Gods and Worship."_

"Mm." Fredrik closed his eyes. "Read me some. Pick a good part."

_"There are reports of the existence of spirits in our world that have the same capacity to use the actions and deeds of mortals to strengthen themselves as do the Gods. The understanding of the exact nature of such creatures -"_

"BORING," Fredrik whined. "Don't you have anything exciting in that book bag of yours?"

Auldan sighed; he'd long ago inferred that the Nord didn't have the attention span for scholarly texts. "Well, I also brought _Songs of Skyrim."_

Fredrik perked up at once. "Like _Ragnar the Red?"_

"Yes." Auldan rummaged around in his knapsack, putting away _Overview_ and taking out Songs. He balanced it carefully on his knees as he opened it, trying not to break the delicate spine; this was one of his older books. "It also has the Song of the Dragonborn."

"I remember that one. Can you sing?" Fredrik grinned. "Bet you're tone-deaf."

"Oh, and you're any better? You nearly made my ears bleed when you were singing in the crypt."

"_Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn!" _Fredrik bellowed, and the carriage driver threw down his reins in frustration.

"For the love of the gods, will you two stop yapping and let me drive? You sound like a dying Khajiit back there."

"Sorry," Auldan said. Fredrik only grinned unapologetically.

They watched the scenery roll by together, and then, struck by a sudden urge, Auldan began to hum quietly to himself. "_Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn," _he sang, with near-perfect pitch; Fredrik looked at him in surprise. "_To keep evil forever at bay! And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout. __Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!"_

Fredrik joined in, trying hard to keep the tune. "_Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age, long ago, __And the tale, boldly told, of the one! __Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man, __With a power to rival the Sun!"_

The carriage driver stared back at them, amused. "You two enjoying yourselves?"

"Come on," Fredrik said. "You know you remember the words."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do."

The driver sighed irritably, and then belted out in a mostly-correct rendition of the tune, "_And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold __That when brothers wage war come unfurled!"_

_"Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, __With a hunger to swallow the world!"_ Auldan declared, and Fredrik's thunderous bellowing finished the song.

_"But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies, Will be silenced forever and then! Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw, Dragonborn be the savior of men!"_

The two heroes grinned at each other as the music in their minds faded away, heartened by the song. The driver merely sighed. "I refuse to believe you two dunderheads are the saviors of Skyrim," he said, and picked up the reins.

They traveled for hours and hours on end, the wheels clattering quietly on the cobblestones; as they rode farther west, away from the temperate hills and sunny skies of Whiterun, the rolling fields of wildflowers gradually turned into cold snow again, and Auldan shivered, pulling his robes a little tighter around himself. "In all my years in Skyrim," he said, "I've still never gotten used to the cold."

He expected Fredrik to make some amused, dry and probably highly offensive comment about this, given the Nord's innate resistance to cold; however, to his surprise, the warrior took off his own bear fur cloak, wrapping it tightly around the Breton to keep him warm. "Here," he said.

"Thank you." Auldan nestled into the cloak, not even caring that it smelled like beer and skeever meat and the Nord's sweat; it was the gesture that mattered. He was beginning to love these little moments of kindness, the rare times when the Nord's tough, battle-hardened facade slipped and his battered hero's heart shone through.

At least, he hoped that was what these moments meant. He hoped it meant they were becoming friends, companions, close enough to trust each other and have each other's backs. He hoped Fredrik saw him that way, after everything they'd been through together. But he could never really know, could he?

"Hey," Fredrik said suddenly, and Auldan snapped out of his thoughts to refocus on the Nord. "I wanted to tell you something, the other day."

"Okay, shoot."

"Remember when we were talking about love?"

Auldan nodded, cautiously. "Yes."

"Well, I've been thinking." Fredrik closed his eyes. "I think I'm going to give up on Carlotta. She's rebuffed me for years now, and I don't think my love for her will ever turn out to be anything. We'll never be together, at least not the way I want. So I'm going to move on and open my heart to new people."

"That sounds nice, Fredrik. That's a good idea."

"You think so?"

"Yes." Auldan knew it was the right move; he'd met Carlotta in the marketplace, and he had deduced the same thing. It was never going to work - she was too determined not to have any more men in her life. "I do."

"Well, I'm glad." Fredrik nodded decisively, as though convincing himself it was the right decision. "I think this will be good for me. Everyone has to learn how to move on sometime, so I might as well learn now."

"As long as you're all right with it."

"'Course I am." Fredrik shrugged, unruffled. "Besides, it'll let me think about myself a bit. What I really want. Maybe I'll learn a thing or two."

"Maybe so." Auldan looked out of the cart, watching a deer dart into the trees beyond. "But either way, you deserve to find someone wonderful. I know you'll find her someday."

Fredrik chortled good-naturedly. "Or maybe _him_. We'll see."

Auldan raised an eyebrow, amused. "I'd heard rumors of the Nord tendency towards that direction."

"Well, you know. It's not taboo here, like it is in a lot of places." Fredrik shrugged easily as he watched the clouds meander by overhead. "I don't know about myself, though. I'll have to think about it. Who I want, who I like."

"Mm." Auldan closed his eyes, suddenly sleepy. Noticing, Fredrik reached out and tucked the bear fur cloak tighter around him.

"Have a nap," he said. "I'll keep watch."

"Just a few minutes," Auldan murmured, and dozed off to the calming rhythm of the cart wheels on the stones.

He dreamed about black wings unfurling, and birds in a windstorm, and spirits whispering in the trees; he dreamed of forgotten elven voices and Nord voices and dragon voices, the murmuring, roiling whispers of the soul he had absorbed. And above it all, the soft thrumming of his _Thu'um,_ the press against his vocal chords. _Fus, _it breathed. _Fus._

He barely felt the cart stop, but when he opened his eyes, he was lying sideways on the carriage seat, still wrapped in Fredrik's fur cloak. The man had tucked a blanket under his head as a pillow. _Fredrik, _he thought fondly, and lifted his head, peering out to see the warrior standing outside the carriage chatting with some guards.

"Now, then," he said. "We've shown you we have no ill intentions, and we've gone through all your checks. Will you kindly let us in?"

"Rorikstead's been attacked by a dragon. You'll forgive us for the high security," one of the guards said, warily. "We don't want the same thing happening here."

"Come now. I've told you why I'm here, I've shown you my cargo -"

"There's a wizard in your carriage."

"And? What about him? He's not hurting anyone." Fredrik shrugged, obviously not seeing the problem. "He's my friend."

"His magic could burn down the whole hold -"

"And so could a dragon, numbskull!" Fredrik's voice was growing steadily angrier. "That's why we're here, haven't you idiots figured it out? We're the Dragonborn, the heroes of Whiterun - if anything bad happens while we're here, we can protect you. Has that gotten through your fucking iron-plated heads yet, or do I have to drill the lesson in there personally?"

The guards exchanged wary glances, then stepped back to let them in. "No trouble, you hear me?" the first said. "If you harm a single hair on anyone's head, the gods save you."

Fredrik smiled triumphantly. "You have my word as a Nord."

Auldan closed his eyes hastily and lay still, pretending to still be asleep; he heard Fredrik clamber noisily back into the carriage beside him, and then the cart started moving again, presumably heading into Morthal. He listened as the Nord leaned back on the seat and sighed. "What a day," he murmured, apparently talking to himself. "Never thought I'd come here, of all the damn places. I hope you know what you're doing, bringing us here." This apparently directed at Auldan's pretend-sleeping form. "You'd better not get yourself killed. I'm not losing anyone again, you hear me? Never again."

Auldan didn't move, but his heart twinged a little at those words. Again, he was getting a tiny glimpse into the pain in Fredrik's heart, just as he had when the man was delirious from blood loss and clinging to him for dear life - and had begged Auldan not to leave him.

Which could only mean that, somewhere in this man's tangled past, someone he loved had done just that.

The cart rumbled on for a while, clattering down the rough cobble streets of Morthal; then it slowed to a stop. "We're here," the driver said. "You going to wake your wizard friend up, or what?"

"Fine, fine." Fredrik shook Auldan's shoulder gently. "Hey. Wake up."

Auldan pretended to stir, yawning theatrically. "Mmph," he said, feigning groggy awareness. "Where are we?"

"Morthal."

"Oh. Good." Auldan rubbed his eyes. "Let's head to Moorside Inn. I could use a drink."

"Aren't you supposed to meet someone here?"

"Yes," Auldan said. "That's what the drink is for."

Fredrik took the hint. "Ah," he said, wisely. "Well, I'll just head down to the thaumaturgist's, then. I've been meaning to sell a... potion."

Auldan raised an amused eyebrow. "You mean the one I helped you smuggle into Whiterun?"

"Maybe," was the vague reply.

And with that, they parted ways, and Auldan headed down to the inn with his hands jammed in his pockets, already imagining the way a nice cold ale would taste after their long journey. His friend wasn't supposed to meet him here until later tonight, so he had some time to kill. Why not have a nice meal and a rest by the fire while the evening faded? Surely it wouldn't take long.

He entered Moorside Inn and found a cozy little tavern, empty of guests; even the bard's chair was empty, and he recalled the bard in this location being _very _memorable. The barkeep, a tired woman with dark circles under her eyes, barely looked up at Auldan's approach. "Room?"

"No," he said. "Just a drink."

The woman sighed and poured him a glass. "Sorry. I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Everything all right?" Auldan asked, taking the drink.

"Well, it's just this whole mess with Hroggar, and his house..." She shook her head wearily. "His home burned down, you see, and the blaze killed his wife and child. Not two days later, he's shacking up with another woman in town, Alva. The whole thing looks suspicious to high heaven, as you can imagine."

"It doesn't look very good for him." It certainly did seem strange. Why would the man do such a thing, knowing how guilty it would make him look? There had to be something else going on here, and despite the painful pang of sadness he felt at hearing about a dead child, Auldan couldn't help but relish in a fresh challenge to his intellect.

...Which was to say that his mind hadn't been challenged much by having Fredrik around, to put it lightly.

"Do you mind if I investigate?" He studied the woman curiously, wondering where this all might lead him. "I just arrived in town from Whiterun, and I have some time to spare. Maybe I can provide an outsider's perspective."

"Be my guest. The Jarl was looking for someone to nose around anyway - might as well be you. There'd be pay in it for you, I'm sure, if you can figure out if Hroggar's as guilty as he looks." The barkeep frowned. "Also, if you happen across Thonnir's wife, Laelette, could you tell her to get home? She's been missing for a while now."

"Noted." Auldan took a long swig of his ale, then set it down, resolving to take care of this while he waited for his visitor to arrive. "Where can I find the house?"

"The edge of town. You can't miss it."

And sure enough, when he walked out of the inn and down the road, it was a huge, looming presence on the landscape; a burned-out shell of a home, ruined beyond repair. Tentatively, he stepped inside, looking for clues. There must be some trace of what had happened here, something everyone else had missed...

"Hi!"

He looked up, startled by the voice. A little girl stood looking at him, beaming brightly; at first Auldan wondered if he was in the early stages of wizard's madness and seeing things, but then he realized with a sinking feeling that she was shimmering, transparent as a thin film; he could see the burned-out walls through her. _A ghost._

"Hello," he said, his heart sinking forlornly into his boots. "What's your name?"

"I'm Helgi!" She smiled cheerfully. "Who're you?"

"Auldan," he said, trying not to let his sorrow seep into his voice. He hated seeing a child in this state; it made his heart ache inside. _Poor little thing. She probably doesn't even know she's dead._

"Nice to meet you, Auldan." Helgi bounced eagerly on her ghostly heels. "Do you want to play a game?"

"Okay," he said, knowing there was no way he could refuse. "Which one?"

"Hide-and-seek! You count to ten, and I'll hide." She darted off, and he obediently turned and covered his eyes.

"One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten."

He turned back around, and she was gone.

_I have to find her. _He tromped through the snow, trying to figure out where she'd gone; she hadn't left any footprints, obviously, and there wasn't the slightest trace of her passage. Where would she have chosen to hide?

And then he saw the stones.

There was a little collection of them high on a nearby hill, arranged neatly in a circle. And as Auldan moved cautiously towards them, he realized there was something in the center. A small coffin.

_Oh. _He stopped, staring sadly at the little grave. _Poor girl._

And then he heard a soft footfall behind him.

He whirled, snapping his fingers to summon his magic. It was only a moment, but in the brief second when fire flashed to life in his palms, he beheld the leering face staring back at him from the trees, about to lunge - black lips peeled back to reveal long white fangs.

It happened so fast. One moment he was thrusting a hand forward to hurl a fireball, the light flashing off red eyes - the next there were fingers clawing at his arm and teeth aiming at his neck. He yelled in surprise and rage and blasted the monster away from him with a crack of lightning, and she fell back, the moonlight dancing eerily off her face as she bared her fangs and smiled at him.

"You'll make a good one," she said. "I just have to get you. One good bite."

"What are you?" Auldan's mind thundered as he prepared another spell, ready for another ambush. "Why are you here?"

In response she raised a hand, and red magic yanked at his mind, a delirious madness trying to seize him; she was draining his energy, he realized. He somehow managed to muster the strength to lift a hand and blast her back, and for a while they struggled against each other in a silent duel of mind against mind, magic against magic; until suddenly she broke off with an angry cry, leaping at him like a wildcat. Dazed from the blood magic, he was slow to respond, and this time she almost struck true - her fangs brushed the skin of his neck for the briefest instant, but then power surged through him and he seized her throat in icy hands, his fingers glowing with frost magic to freeze her in place.

He lifted her into the air, choking her, and she hissed and spat as she struggled to get free. "Let go of me!"

"Tell me who you are," he said. Now he knew what she was. "What's a vampire doing in Morthal?"

She leered at him. "The girl could have been mine," she said. "I wanted her so badly, oh, how I loved her. I tried to turn her, but it was too late. But there's a way to get her back, I know there must be. I'll find it."

"You can't. She's dead."

"_Liar!" _she snarled, and ripped free of his grip, tearing at him with clawlike hands. He reacted purely on instinct, as yet another burst of energy lit up his nerves - he suddenly realized it was coming from the necklace Jarl Balgruuf had given him, some kind of mana or stamina boost. He felt fresh magic pound through his blood as he seized her face in his hands, and, with a powerful rush of fire, incinerated her in a holocaust of flame.

Her screams filled the air as she writhed in agony, and then fell to the snow, dead. He lowered his still-burning hand, shaking badly and trying to process what had just happened. He'd killed a vampire. He'd burned her alive.

_I've never killed one before, _he marveled at himself. But then, he'd never killed a dragon either, until yesterday. It seemed that he was having all kinds of firsts these days.

He looked over at the child's coffin, still lying quietly in the snow. Tentatively, he called out, "Helgi?"

The girl's ghost materialized at once. "Is she gone?"

"Yes," Auldan said. "She's gone."

"She was told to burn Mommy and me." Helgi sounded mournful. "Alva made her do it."

"Alva?"

"Yes. Alva told her to burn down the house so she could have Daddy forever. But she didn't want to. She wanted to keep me." Helgi sounded bitter, and sad. "She came to find me while the house was burning, and she told me her name was Laelette, and she loved me. She bit me, and I felt so cold. But then I felt really hot, and then it all got colder. Now I don't feel anything."

Auldan's heart ached. _So that's what happened to Hroggar's family. And this vampire I just killed... this was Thonnir's wife._ "It's okay, Helgi," he said, wishing he could go back in time and undo all of this. "You don't have to worry anymore. You're avenged now - both of you."

"I feel so tired." Helgi yawned. "I want to sleep."

"Go to sleep," Auldan said, tenderly. He reached out and stroked her ghostly hair. "You can rest now. It's all over."

"Okay." And with a soft shimmer, Helgi vanished; his fingers met empty air.

Auldan closed his eyes, feeling strangely as though he wanted to cry. With some effort, he lowered his hand, forced the tears down and looked over at the vampire's scorched form, still lying motionless in the snow. He had to tell the villagers what really happened here, and that there were vampires in their midst. Surely now there would be more trouble to come -

"Laelette!"

He looked up, bewildered, just in time to see a huge blonde man come running into view, stopping dead at the sight of the corpse. He fell to his knees beside her, sobbing incoherently. "My Laelette, oh, my darling, no."

Auldan stared at him, bewildered. Then it clicked. "You must be Thonnir," he said.

"Yes." The man looked up at him tearfully. "How did she die? What happened?"

The wizard struggled for words for a moment, then decided he needed to tell him the truth. "She was a vampire," he said. "She burned down the house at Alva's orders, to kill Hroggar's family. Which must mean Alva is a vampire, too."

Thonnir's eyes widened. He looked down at the burnt remains, then back up at Auldan, and his face hardened. "No," he said. "I don't believe you."

"It's true."

"You're wrong. You must be wrong! There is no way you can prove it to the Jarl." He sighed. "I hope Alva is not what you think."

"I hope so too," Auldan said, even though in his heart he knew better. "I'm going to talk to Alva. I think she has some explaining to do."

"If you must." Thonnir shook his head mournfully. "My Laelette..."

Auldan decided it would be best to quietly slip away, and leave him to grieve.

He headed back into town, wondering where Alva's house might be; he was so preoccupied with his wandering thoughts that he suddenly realized he hadn't seen Fredrik in a while. He should probably go to the thaumaturgist's and make sure the Nord was all right.

The hut was on the far side of town, a run-down little affair. He poked his head in, and found a quiet man in wizard's robes stirring a cauldron. "Hello?" he said, tentatively. "I was wondering if you'd seen a Nord with a horned helmet in here recently. He's carrying a warhammer and some swords. You couldn't miss him if you tried."

The wizard looked up, frowning politely. "No," he said. "I haven't seen anyone like that."

Auldan's blood turned to ice. _Oh, hell. _Where was Fredrik? He sprinted down the street like a man possessed, grabbing the nearest guard. "You! Have you seen a Nord carrying a warhammer?"

"Yes," the guard said, clearly bewildered. "He went into Alva's house, down that way."

_Oh, shit, no! No! _Auldan let go of him and ran headlong down the road, tearing up the doorstep of Alva's house. He prayed he wasn't too late, he prayed she hadn't turned him - he took a deep breath and summoned his magic, mustering his last drops of strength; he was still exhausted from his battle with Laelette, but he wasn't done fighting yet. _I can do this, I can do this, _he growled to himself, and with a rush of adrenaline and a sickeningly loud _crack_, he hurled a fireball and blasted the door into a flaming mass of wooden splinters.

He stepped inside to find a wide-eyed woman staring at him, clearly stunned by this violent intrusion into her house. The wild-eyed Breton, his robes askew, hands burning with fire magic, must make a terrifying sight - but then her surprise turned into smugness. "Hello, Auldan," she said. "I've been waiting for you."

"Where's Fredrik?" he demanded, raising his burning hands threateningly. "What have you done with him?"

"Nothing." She assumed an innocent expression, looking for all the world like an innocent damsel in distress. "This is quite the entrance, you know. I could have you arrested for it."

"Tell me where he is," Auldan snarled, low and dangerous. "Or I'll rip your fucking throat out."

Alva laughed softly. "Your kind are always so _adorable._"

He hurled a fireball. She dodged nimbly aside, quick as a dancer; then she drew a dagger, baring fangs as she raced towards him with lightning speed. She was so fast, preternaturally fast, and even as he twisted aside to dodge, she buried the dagger deep into his left arm.

Pain knifed through him like hot ice, and he roared as he swept a bolt of lightning towards her, knocking her off her feet - she went flying into the wall, electrified, and lay stunned. He saw his opening and charged, but she wasn't done yet - she kicked out as he neared, and her foot crashed hard into his knee, knocking him to the floor with a yell of pain. And as he struggled and wrestled with her, trying to burn her the way he'd burned Laelette, she slashed and stabbed at him with her dagger, catching him in his shoulder, his hip, his leg. He kicked her away, bleeding and crying out in agony, and she lunged, fangs agape -

He didn't know how he did it, but somehow, one last reserve of energy gave him the strength to pull an arrow out of the quiver on his back and stab it forward, burying it up to the feathers in her throat.

She choked and gasped, then gargled blood, slumping to the floor. Auldan scrambled away, clutching at his wounds in a weak attempt to staunch the bleeding; he knew he was badly injured, and his vision was already blurring from blood loss, but he stood shakily anyway and stumbled towards the cellar door. _Please, _he prayed incoherently as he rested a hand on the doorknob, _please let him be okay, please let him be okay -_

He opened the door. There was a huge wooden coffin in the center of the room, and beside it lay Fredrik, unmoving.

Auldan closed his eyes, struggling to focus through his pain. "Fredrik."

The Nord didn't respond, so Auldan staggered wearily over, falling to his knees beside his friend. He had a nasty gash on his head, and there were bruises on his neck and shoulders from what must have been a hell of a fight, but otherwise he looked unharmed; or at least, he didn't have any bite marks. Auldan touched the Nord's skin, and was relieved to find it warm - not cold with vampirism. He could only hope this all meant he hadn't been turned.

"Fredrik," he managed weakly, and with his last drop of strength he shook Fredrik's shoulder. "Wake up."

To his immense relief, the man stirred, groaning. "My head," he complained loudly, opening his eyes. He stared at Auldan for a moment, then gasped, the memories apparently flooding back to him. "Auldan, gods, there's a vampire, Alva's a vampire -"

"I know."

"She knocked me out and dragged me down here to lure you to her -" Fredrik trailed off, seeing the blood soaking Auldan's clothes, and seemed to mistake it for the vampire's. "Oh, good. Did you kill her? Tell me you killed her."

"Yes, she's dead." Auldan squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to think through the pounding in his head; the pain was getting worse, the agony tearing through him like hot knives. "Fredrik."

"Oh, fuck, you're hurt." Fredrik sat up at once, fumbling to support Auldan as he slumped over. "No, no, no, Auldan!"

"Your second favor," Auldan mumbled, slurring his words; the world was folding in on itself, fading away. "Now we're even."

"_AULDAN!"_

It was the last thing the wizard heard before reality slipped away from him, and all fell into darkness.


	5. V: Kun Ahst Vulom, Light In Darkness

_A/N: Hello to everyone who's been following this story so far! (Hopefully more than just me? Maybe?) I haven't had much time to write lately, so this chapter is a bit shorter than usual - kind of a transition chapter to a bigger one next week. So please enjoy a sort of mini-installment for now while I get to work on the next bit!_

* * *

There were voices whispering in his head again. He felt hot and cold all over, like he'd just been dunked in icy water; he was vaguely aware of a burning heat in his skin, a powerful fever that throbbed painfully in his veins. And below it all, the incoherent, delirious murmurs of madness that lurked in the shadowy corners of his mind, the ghostly touch of Sheogorath against his struggling brain. _No, _he thought feebly, _I won't give in. _He fought madly against the encroaching tendrils of insanity, forcing himself to remember who he was, why he'd come here. He was Auldan Metonius, he was the Dragonborn, he was -

\- _he was sitting on a snowy balcony, perched like a moth in the College's highest tower, grinning and making a little magelight fly around Onmund__'s head. The wizard laughed and batted it away. "Hey, watch it." They had a chuckle together, these two unlikely friends, and in that moment nothing seemed to matter but the two of them. He found himself praying to Kynareth and Akatosh and all the Divines that this peaceful life would never end -_

\- he was burning hot, so hot he felt like he was melting. He groaned and tried to open his eyes, but light seared them, making him flinch away; that motion brought a whole new array of pain, his whole body seized with agony. He tried to lift a hand, to move or do _something_, but his body felt heavy, like molten lead. He couldn't even muster the strength to twitch a finger.

"You must know something." A voice came from above him, from somewhere down a long tunnel in his mind. "Please, he's dying. You have to know some kind of magic -"

"I'm sorry. He's beyond my help. He's lost too much blood and those wounds are already infected. The fever will take him in a matter of days, if not hours."

"Please."

"There's nothing else I can do. I'm sorry. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Well, there is something we could try, but -"

"I don't care what it costs. Do it."

The voices faded away, and the fever overtook him again. It felt like a long time, days, hours, years, before the world began to trickle back again, piece by piece. He was vaguely aware of people moving around him, and the shifting of air as people entered and exited his room; but beyond that he was blind and deaf. What was going on? His fevered mind slipped back into madness and memories -

_\- he was resting by the fireplace beside his grandmother, watching the sun set. "Tell me about the wizards," he said, for the sixth time that day, and she laughed softly and told him again about the pyromancers and the conjurers and the heroes. She told him about the War Mages of Shornhelm, and the frost mages of the North who rode war bears into battle, and the wizards who could summon elementals and atronachs to fight by their side. He listened in fascination, young mind absorbing everything he could about magic, dreaming about knowing those secrets and casting those spells and being one of those legendary wizards someday -_

\- by the planes of Oblivion, his body hurt. He groaned and tried to open his eyes, vaguely aware of lying under what felt like a pile of thick furs; his skin prickled with sweat and points of heat, and the knife wounds in his body wracked him with pain, white-hot and agonizing. Somewhere through the choking fog of fever, he remembered what had happened to him, and his heart seized in panic as he realized he didn't know where Fredrik was. The Nord had to be all right, he must be. "Fredrik?"

"Right here." A familiar, meaty hand squeezed his shoulder. "I won't leave you. Just try to relax."

Auldan screwed his eyes shut, grimacing as a fresh wave of pain rolled through him. "I should have died." He remembered it now. "I was bleeding out. Why am I not dead?"

"Don't worry about it." Fredrik's blue eyes came into view above him, peering down at him worriedly. "You're alive. That's all that matters. How do you feel?"

"Like I got chewed up by an Argonian." Auldan closed his eyes, struggling to organize his thoughts. "What happened?"

"I carried you out of the house and got you to the thaumaturgist's house. Turns out Falion is good at healing magic." Fredrik smiled tightly, but it didn't reach his eyes, and Auldan felt a faint chill; something had gone amiss, he could feel it. There was something the Nord wasn't telling him.

"How?" he asked, cautiously. "How did he heal me?"

"Magic, obviously. How else would he have done it?" Fredrik patted his shoulder bracingly, clearly trying to change the subject. "Let's not worry about how he did it, okay?"

"Fredrik..."

"Don't think about it. I told you to stop thinking about it."

"Why can't you tell me?" Now Auldan was terrified of what might have happened while he was unconscious. Had it been some kind of necromancy, or some other forbidden magic? What price had Fredrik paid to save him? "Fredrik -"

"It's _nothing, _Auldan. Why do you even care?"

Auldan hesitated. "Because I care," he said at length. "I promised myself I would never be tempted to use soul gems, or necromancy, or any kind of dark magic. It was an oath I swore to my old master, and myself. So if any of those were used to heal me -"

"That's your problem, you know that?" Fredrik blew out a frustrated breath. "You care. You _care _about everything, you care about children and people and books and music. I never cared about a single damn thing until I met you, did you know that? Not a fucking thing."

"Yes, you do," Auldan said, and he knew it was true; as much as the Nord blustered and snapped and snarled, there was a beating heart under that armor, and it ached and broke and loved just like any other man's. "I know you do."

"No, you don't know. You may be the smartest wizard in Skyrim, but you don't know _anything_ about me. And don't you forget it." He turned away from Auldan as though to leave, but as he took a step Auldan said quietly,

"You're lying, Fredrik."

"No, I'm not." Fredrik stopped with his hand on the doorknob, determinedly not looking Auldan in the eyes. "I gave up on the world a long time ago, after it was done ripping out my heart and leaving me to die. The only reason I'm trying to save it now is because for once in my life, I finally have something worth dying for."

But Auldan knew the truth, even if he was still a little woozy and delirious from his wounds. Because on a day like this not so long ago, he had seen the real Fredrik Hammerskull, the one that hid behind the cold, unfeeling mask. "You do care," he said. "You care so much it hurts, and that scares you. So you block yourself off and pretend you don't, so you don't have to feel the pain of losing something again - of losing some_one."_

"Stop analyzing me," Fredrik snapped, and turned back to face him again. "I'm not a fucking mental patient."

"No." Auldan looked at him, this angry glowering Nord who had once made the mistake of showing the chinks in his emotional armor, and felt a crushing empathy for him. "You're just a man who has a lot of dead people in his eyes."

Fredrik stared at him for a long moment. Then he closed his eyes, and for the first time Auldan saw the heaviness in his shoulders, the deep sadness in his face; he suddenly realized the Nord was tired, exhausted, beaten down by the world. Insecure and scared, and desperate to find a place in a world that seemed determined to kick him down at every turn, but too proud and too Nordic to show it.

"Damn you, Auldan," he muttered, and sat down in a chair and buried his face in his hands. "I don't know how you always see through me."

"It's all right." With some effort, Auldan sat up, wincing as his still-healing wounds bloomed with pain. "Listen -"

"No, you listen." Fredrik massaged his temples with his scarred knuckles. "I thought you were going to die. Don't you fucking die on me, you understand?"

"Fredrik -"

"You were right, that I've lost a lot of people. And I'm not ready to lose another one." Fredrik met his eyes, blue into brown. "So do as I say, and _don't you fucking die."_

Auldan nodded, tentatively. There was nothing else he could say. "I won't."

"Good." Fredrik heaved a sigh and stood, picking up his warhammer. "I'll get you some tea and fresh bandages. Bretons like tea, right?"

"That's a stereotype."

Fredrik raised a wry eyebrow at him.

"...But, yes," Auldan relented. "I would like some tea."

"Thought so." Fredrik plodded out of the room. "Don't die while I'm gone."

"I'll try not to." Auldan closed his eyes, relaxing back into the pillows; he pondered what he had learned about the Nord as he listened to the big man struggle to make tea in another room. For the first time since he'd met him, he felt like he was finally beginning to understand what made the man tick, what drove him to do the things he did.

And yet the curiosity, the fear, wouldn't leave him. The terrible suspicion that was growing in his mind of what kind of spells Falion might have used to save him.

What had Fredrik done?

The door creaked, and he looked up to find that Fredrik had returned, carrying a tray. He tromped over to Auldan's bedside and set it down, and Auldan sat up as the Nord poured him a cup of tea. "Is that looseleaf or lavender?"

"Lavender with a drop of honey." Fredrik offered a cup to the wizard, almost sheepishly. "I don't know if I did it the right way - no one ever taught me how to make it properly. You can spit it out if it's terrible."

"I'm sure it's fine." Auldan accepted the gift and took a sip, gratefully. "Yes, it's very good."

"Are you sure?" Fredrik seemed genuinely worried that he hadn't made it correctly. "It's not too sweet, or too bitter? I tried my best. Don't know if I made it right."

"You did fine," Auldan reassured him, amused that the Nord was so anxious to make him something he liked; it was actually much better than he'd expected, and he took another delicate sip, remembering his Breton manners. "I never pegged you as someone who knew the subtleties of tea flavors."

"Hardly." Fredrik sat down heavily in a chair, yawning, and Auldan noticed that the Nord had taken off his armor; he was in a comfortable nightshirt and pants, the first time the wizard had ever seen him without his gear. The man had gone to sleep fully armored and equipped every night until now, and Auldan thought amusedly that the Nord must dream of being attacked by dragons in his sleep for him to be so diligent about it.

"Where did you get your armor?" he asked. "I noticed all the shields and swords in your house. They've very well made."

"Here and there." Fredrik shrugged vaguely. "Probably best not to look too closely at those."

"Why?" Auldan heaved a sigh, realizing he really shouldn't have asked - knowing his quick-fingered friend, there was no way he was going to like the answer. "Did you steal them?"

"No." Fredrik shifted guiltily. "I mean - not _all _of them."

"Damnit, Fredrik." Despite knowing the Nord was never going to change, Auldan felt the need to scold him anyway. "Why do you feel the need to steal and smuggle and commit crimes to make money? We're making a fine living now as honest, hard-working adventurers - our haul from the barrow wasn't half bad, and we certainly helped with Skyrim's draugr problem."

"I don't know. Habit, I guess." Fredrik scratched a scab on his arm. "That was how I grew up - stealing food and clothes to survive. It's just what I'm good at."

Auldan frowned. "You never told me that."

"There's a lot of things I don't tell you." Fredrik shrugged, not bothered in the least. "Besides, I don't have to pour out my heart to you every second of the day. Can't I keep a few things private?"

"Of course you can. I wasn't expecting you to tell me every detail of your life." Just then Auldan realized something, and looked around blankly. "Hang on - I never asked where we were."

"The Moorside, in Morthal. It's quiet, and you needed someplace to recover." Fredrik stood up, the chair creaking, and wandered over to a table in the corner, where Auldan's book bag rested. He opened the bag and rummaged around inside. "Rorikstead can wait."

"We're too late, then. The dragon is probably long gone by now." Auldan frowned. "You're not going to steal one of my books, are you?"

"'Course not. I don't steal from my friends. What do you take me for?" Fredrik picked up _Chance's Folly _and sat down, cracking it open. "Anyway, I have a feeling that the dragon will come back, and we'll be waiting for it next time. But we're not obligated to chase after every dragon in Skyrim, especially not when the trip would have killed you."

"We're the Dragonborn. Isn't that kind of our job?"

"Not unless you want it to be." Fredrik turned a page in the book, frowning in concentration. "Besides, cheer up - there will always be another dragon for us to get burned alive by."

"How comforting." Auldan raised an eyebrow. "Are you actually reading one of my books?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I just never pictured you actually picking up a book without selling it or stealing it. Can you even read?"

"Of course I can read." Fredrik turned another page for emphasis. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh yeah?" Auldan smirked. "Tell me what that book is about, then."

"It's obviously about -" Fredrik fumbled for a moment, clearly trying to invent something. "It's about a chance. And a folly. And, uh, there's a girl in it."

"Mm-hm. You can't read, can you."

Fredrik sighed and closed the book. "I was just hoping there'd be pictures."

"Well, I could teach you, if you wanted." Auldan rose painfully from the bed, taking slow steps over to a chair; Fredrik rushed to help him, gently guiding him to sit down. "It's not too hard, once you get the hang of it."

"Bah. There are more important things in life than books." Fredrik let go of him, but watched Auldan worriedly as the wizard steadied himself. "Don't move too fast, now. Falion said you'll be shaky and nauseous for a few days."

"I'm fine." Auldan waved him off. "Besides, I've taken worse from training with my old master."

"That reminds me." Fredrik frowned at him. "You never told me who you were meeting here. Did you get a chance, before the vampires?"

"Well -"

"_DOVAHKIIN."_

The roar shook the walls of the Moorside Inn like thunder, and Auldan and Fredrik gasped on instinct as it battered their minds; it was the most powerful _Thu'um _they'd ever felt, even stronger than the dragon's. Auldan felt it rattling his bones, shaking his heart in his ribcage, and clung to his chair so hard his knuckles turned white as it faded away, brain reeling in panic.

"What," he said, when he had breath again, "was that?"

"I have no idea." Fredrik shook his head, as though emerging from a trance. "Where did it come from? Was it a dragon?"

"I don't know." Auldan wondered if they had attracted the attention of some ancient god, or forgotten power; he rose shakily, grabbing Fredrik's arm for support. "I think we should -"

The door of their room banged open, and the innkeeper stood staring at them with wide eyes. "Did you hear that?" she asked.

"Yes." Fredrik frowned. "Do you know what it was?"

"They're saying it was the Greybeards," she said breathlessly. "Calling you two to High Hrothgar."

The two Dragonborn exchanged glances. "The Greybeards?" Auldan said, incredulously. "I didn't know they were real."

"They're real. At least, the Nords say so. Who else could have made such a shout?" The woman shrugged helplessly. "You two should go. You have no choice now - they've called you, and anyone the Greybeards call has to answer."

"Well," Auldan said, looking at Fredrik wearily, "it looks like we have a new quest."

"Seems so." Fredrik nodded at the innkeeper. "We'll be leaving tonight, then. I'll pay you for the room on the way out."

"No need. The Jarl paid for your expenses, because of your service to the town." The innkeeper smiled. "Thanks to both of you for dealing with the vampire menace here in Morthal. We've sent our strongest men to clear out the last of them - they've got a lair in the swamplands up north. Hopefully we'll be hearing good news from them soon."

"Hopefully." Auldan prayed they would be safe; he now knew firsthand how dangerous vampires could be. "We'll come back to check on the situation here, after we deal with the dragon crisis."

"Which might take a while, so don't get your hopes up," Fredrik muttered to him. "And it could kill us both."

"True." However this whole mess turned out, Auldan hoped that Fredrik, at least, would make it through this alive. He didn't care much for his own fate - if he fell saving the world, so be it. Maybe Sovngarde would welcome him for such a sacrifice, even if he wasn't technically a Nord. But Fredrik... he had to live. Auldan would happily die to make sure of it.

They spent the rest of the day packing their things to leave, and occasionally, when Auldan felt light-headed or had to sit down for a while, Fredrik laid a hand on his shoulder to help steady him, an oddly tender gesture. "Easy," he said. "I'll hire the carriage, and you can lie down in the back. I won't make you walk or ride until you're healed."

"Speak for yourself. You've still got a nick in your side from that draugr."

"Hardly a scratch now." Fredrik lifted his shirt, revealing the thin, crescent-shaped scar the skeletal fiend had left him. "It only twinges me now. And it means I've got a new mark to brag to the ladies about."

"Well, you know what they say about silver linings." Auldan chuckled wearily. "I'll probably have a few scars of my own now. Maybe I'll finally get a date."

"Keep dreaming, noodle-arms." Fredrik closed his pack and slung it over his shoulder. "Come on, now - let's hurry before the sun sets and those damned bloodsuckers come out again."

The two of them headed out to find a carriage, walking slowly for Auldan's sake; he nursed his still-painful arm as they searched for a stable. Finding none, they instead looked around hopefully for a caravan; neither of them had any intention of walking all the way to the Throat of the World on foot. But there were no Khajiit or wandering traders in sight, let alone a pack animal they could rent.

"There has to be _some _kind of transportation around here," Fredrik burst finally, after they spent nearly an hour combing Morthal for a carriage or a horse of any kind. "Is this place really that small of a village?"

"Apparently, yes." Auldan sighed. "We could ask the Jarl to borrow some horses -"

"No. I won't go groveling to some Jarl." Fredrik looked around angrily. "There has to be _somebody _around here who will let us rent a carriage."

"But she paid for our stay at the inn," Auldan reminded him. "And she'd probably be happy to help us out a little more. We did kill a vampire, after all. Two vampires."

Fredrik glared at him for a moment, then sighed and relented. "Fine. But you have to ask her, not me."

They headed down to the longhouse, the Nord grumbling loudly the whole way, and entered to find Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone reclining calmly on her throne, eyes half-closed. She did not move as they approached, but spoke in a hoarse croak as they neared: "I've heard what you two did for the town. You have my thanks."

"Thank you for paying for our room," Auldan said, figuring he might as well start this off on a positive note. "That was very kind of you."

"A minor token of my appreciation." Idgrod regarded them coolly, rheumy eyes peering at them with a wise glint. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Well, since you asked." Auldan coughed politely. "We were wondering if you could lend us a few horses."

"Of course. Keep them." She waved a hand dismissively. "I've got two mares. What were their names again, Aslfur?"

"Yorja and Veela," the steward provided. "They're good horses. A little slow, though."

"Ah, yes. Take them. They're yours."

"You are too kind, Jarl Idgrod." Auldan knelt in thanks, but Fredrik remained standing, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"What, you're just going to let us have them? No trouble?"

"You've done a great service for Morthal," the Jarl said calmly; she obviously wasn't intimidated by the huge Nord in the slightest. "I see it fit to reward you. It's hardly a loss to my coffers to give you a few horses."

"Hmph." Fredrik eyed her suspiciously. "No one does anything nice like this without having some ulterior motive."

"Well, if you must have one," Idgrod said, clearly amused, "then consider my ulterior motive to be getting on the good side of the Dragonborn."

Fredrik hesitated a moment longer, then sighed. "Oh, all right," he said. "I suppose I'm grateful, then."

"I certainly hope so," the Jarl said wryly. "You'd better run along and get your horses, now. I have many things to attend to, especially considering the mess you two made of Alva's house. Thanks to you, I have _two _burned homes to take care of."

"Hey, that was Auldan, not me!" Fredrik said indignantly, but Auldan hastily shushed him.

"Thank you again, Jarl Idgrod," he said. "We won't forget your charity."

She chuckled hoarsely, but there was a friendly twinkle in her old eyes. "You'd better not," she said. "Now go, before I change my mind and arrest you for arson instead."

They hastened out, and a servant led the horses to them; they were old mares, Auldan could tell at once, but they looked sturdy enough. He stroked the first one's mane, and she whuffled softly, nuzzling his fingers in greeting. "Hello, Yorja," he said.

"Actually, that one's Veela," Fredrik said, taking the reins of the second one. "This one's Yorja."

"How can you tell?"

"I can just tell," he said simply, and mounted his horse, grunting a little as he struggled to fit his huge boots into the stirrups. "Now hurry up, we don't have all night."

"Okay, okay." Auldan put his foot in Veela's stirrup and started to push himself up - but then pain lanced through him like a hot knife, and he screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his chest as agony seared through him.

"Auldan!" Fredrik lunged off his horse and rushed to him at once. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Auldan wheezed; his knife wounds burned with agony, and he tried to get up, but fell painfully back into the snow, shivering. "Fredrik," he managed, hating how pitiful he sounded. "Fredrik, I can't get up."

"Here, I've got you." Fredrik grabbed him under the armpits, lifting him into the air as easily as if he was a sack of snowberries; Auldan tried not to wince as Fredrik placed him carefully in the saddle, then knotted the stirrups around his ankles so he wouldn't fall out. "Easy. We'll ride slow."

"Thank you." Auldan clung to his horse's neck, trembling, as Fredrik wrapped him in furs to keep him warm. "I'm sorry for being a burden."

"You're not a burden. Not to me." Fredrik patted his shoulder. "If you need to stop, let me know. We'll take a break. This isn't urgent, after all."

"But the Greybeards -"

"Fuck the Greybeards," Fredrik said, simply. "I care more about you than a bunch of old men who know Shouts."

Auldan was left to mull over this as Fredrik climbed back onto his horse, then guided it over beside Auldan's horse. He took Veela's reins and tugged on them gently, coaxing the horse forward alongside his. "We'll go slow," he said. "Let me know when to stop."

"Okay." Auldan pressed his face into Veela's neck, breathing slowly as the pain receded. "Tell me something, Fredrik."

"Hm?"

"A story, or something about Skyrim. Something to distract me."

"Let's see..." Fredrik pondered this for a while. "What's one you've never heard before?"

"Well, I know there's some kind of tale about Jurgen Windcaller, but no one ever told me the full story."

"Ah, that's a good one." Fredrik cleared his throat importantly. "A long, long time ago..."

He regaled Auldan with the story as their horses plodded slowly through the snowy hills, the sun flickering off Fredrik's armor and painting the grasslands a creamy gold. It was quiet save for the soft rustles of birds and animals in the underbrush, and the occasional howl of a wolf in the distance; Auldan gazed out at the peaceful scene around them, and marveled at how beautiful Skyrim was, despite its frigid temperatures and terrible cruelty. Now he understood what the Nords loved about this place.

"You know," he said, when Fredrik was finished with his story, "I'm beginning to see what drew your ancestors here. This is really a lovely place, despite its monsters and weather and dragon problems."

"Bah. Danger is the spice of life - that's what my father always used to say." Fredrik studied him thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, you haven't seen much of Skyrim, have you?"

"I've been as far north as Winterhold, obviously. And I've been to the parts around Whiterun and Riverwood. But beyond that, I haven't really done much exploring."

"I'll have to show you my favorite spots sometime. After this whole dragon crisis is over." Fredrik chuckled wearily. "That is, if we're still alive by then."

Auldan smiled. "In that case, maybe I'll take you to High Rock and show you a _real _landscape."

"Speaking of moving," Fredrik said, looking out at the mountains in the distance, "if you wanted to, we could get a cabin together in Falkreath once we've sorted out this whole mess. Or a house in Windhelm."

"I thought our arrangement was temporary," Auldan said, amused. "What, do you want to keep me around?"

"Well, maybe. I don't know." Fredrik coughed awkwardly. "I mean - it was just an idea."

Auldan smiled; the Nord's hesitation was oddly sweet. "That actually does sound nice," he said. "We should do that. I've always wanted a little log cabin in the woods."

Fredrik looked visibly relieved that the Breton hadn't made fun of him. "It's a plan, then. I know someone who can get us a deed to a little plot of land, and maybe you can have a garden like you always wanted."

Auldan's heart warmed at the prospect. "I'd love that."

"'Course you would." Fredrik gave him a wry smile. "You're a sensitive Breton gentleman, after all."

"Ha, ha." Auldan grinned, enjoying the banter. "Say -"

"Shhh." Fredrik reined in his horse suddenly, blue eyes going hard as ice. "I see someone."

"Where?" Auldan strained his eyes, and then spotted him - a hooded figure in leather armor slowly approaching them on the road, twin daggers drawn. "Oh. Do you think it's a thief?"

"Might be." The big Nord watched the stranger warily. "Stay here." He dismounted and headed towards the man, raising his voice to call out to him. "Oi there, you! What're you doing around these parts?"

The stranger froze, looking between them uncertainly; clearly he hadn't recognized them from a distance, or seen the weapons and armor they carried. Finally he spoke, in a hesitant, thickly accented voice. "You two are the Dragonborn, are you not?"

"Yes," Fredrik said, folding his thick arms. "What's it to you?"

"Forgive me - I didn't mean - don't hurt me!" The man hastily lowered his daggers, cowering in fear. "Don't, please. I didn't mean -"

"You're a thief, are you not?" Fredrik's eyes narrowed. "You've hurt people, haven't you?"

"Please -"

Fredrik strode forward decisively, and Auldan cringed; he remembered what the big Nord had done to Arvel the Swift, and so many bandits and renegades before and since. He had no hope of trying to talk the man into mercy, not when he was so determined to kill every criminal and vagrant he came across in their journeys through Skyrim. All he could do was wait for it to be over -

"Don't do it again." Fredrik took out a money purse and dumped a pile of coins into the man's hands. The man gasped in surprise, hastily pocketing the gold. "There are better ways to make a living. You're a good man - you can do better than this. Now piss off before I change my mind."

"Thank you, sir," the man breathed. "I won't forget this." He hastened away, and Fredrik turned and climbed silently back on his horse, nodding at Auldan.

"There," he said. "Problem solved."

"You didn't kill him," Auldan said, awed. It was the first time he'd seen the Nord actively forgive a bandit or a thief for their crimes, instead of just taking off their head and being done with it - he'd even given the poor soul a better footing in life, despite the fact that they both knew they'd never be seeing those septims again. "You helped him."

"Yeah, well." Fredrik shrugged. "Guess you're rubbing off on me."

Auldan smiled. He couldn't hide the glow in his heart at the realization that he had taught Fredrik Hammerskull the most important lesson his own master had taught him, all those years ago. Back then, they'd come across a wounded Argonian in the road, and when they approached to offer help and healing spells, the Argonian had lashed out and clawed gashes in his master's arm. Auldan had expected his master to tear the creature apart for such a slight, but instead his master had tenderly bandaged the Argonian's wounds and left him angrily spitting and cursing them out in the road.

"Why did you help him?" young Auldan had asked, as they resumed their travels. "He almost killed you."

"He was afraid, and in pain," his master said simply, peering at his young apprentice with wry, knowing eyes. "Perhaps you would have chosen differently?"

Auldan looked sheepishly at the stones, a bit chagrined in the knowledge that his master always saw right through him. "I would have walked away. Maybe I would have even killed him. But that wouldn't have been right, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't have been. I am one of the most powerful wizards alive - I could have killed him with a snap of my fingers, and never thought about him again. But I chose mercy instead. That is what you must always choose, Auldan, even when it is the hardest thing you can ever do. You must always choose mercy."

Auldan had never forgotten. And now, looking at Fredrik, he knew he had just taught the warrior the same lesson his master had imparted to him, so many years ago.

He had taught him mercy.


	6. VI: Wuth Rot, Old Words

The Throat of the World was the largest mountain in Skyrim, and it towered over the two Dragonborn like the icy fang of Akatosh himself, a massive presence that loomed over them and threatened to scrape the sky itself as they neared its slopes; huge and imposing, its shadow seemed to envelop the sun itself, and Auldan's horse began to prance nervously. He stroked the mare's mane to soothe her, watching as Fredrik stared up at the Throat for a long moment, processing its size. "Never thought it would be this big," he said at last. "It looked so small from Whiterun."

"It's much bigger than I thought it would be," Auldan admitted, unsure if this was the right time to mention his fear of heights. Probably not, judging from the determined glint in Fredrik's eyes; the man looked ready to charge right up the mountain with his hammer high, and he didn't want to chicken out when they had come so far already. "Ready for the climb?"

"Ready." Fredrik squared his shoulders. "Let's go."

They guided their horses up the slopes, beginning the long climb. As they passed, Auldan saw a snow fox dart across the path, and heard the distant howls of wolves and trolls higher up the mountain; there was more life here than he'd expected, given the harsh, forbidding climate. But then, Skyrim was not a pleasant land to begin with.

"Hey, Fredrik," he said, looking over at the Nord. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Yeah?" The Nord shifted in the saddle, trying to adjust the stirrups. "What is it?"

"Do you know anything about alchemy?"

"No." Fredrik gave him an amused look. "But it doesn't surprise me that you'd be into flowers."

"It's not _all _flowers," Auldan said, defensively. Then, after a moment's thought about the last few potions he'd made - which had indeed involved a copious amount of flora - he sheepishly amended himself. "Okay, there are some flowers. But there are cooler ingredients, too."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Well, they say the hagravens make potions with daedra hearts."

"That's _hardcore_," Fredrik said, admiringly. "Wish I could get my hands on one of those things."

"The hagraven or the heart?"

"Either one." Fredrik grinned. "Say, that'd be a good name for a song. _The Hagraven's Heart."_

"It would, but neither of us are a bard. Especially not you." Auldan patted Veela's neck for comfort as she shied away from a particularly narrow slope. "You can't hold a tune to save your life."

"Pah. Who needs singing?" Fredrik snorted, clearly pretending not to remember the time he'd belted out the Song of the Dragonborn with Auldan in their carriage ride to Morthal. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Of course not." Auldan smirked knowingly. "How silly of me."

"Why did you ask about alchemy, anyway?" Fredrik raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Have you made potions before?"

"A few. Nothing special." Auldan shrugged. "I mean, I can make some basic energy and strength potions, and once I made an invisibility brew for Frodnar -"

"_Invisibility?" _Fredrik breathed, clearly amazed. "Could you make another one of those? I want to try it!"

"I would need special ingredients." Auldan couldn't help but find the Nord's excitement slightly adorable. "So unless you can find me some vampire dust and nirnroot -"

"Got it." Fredrik grinned. "I'll keep an eye out."

Auldan sighed, mock-exasperated. "If you must."

They wound their slow way up the mountain, and as they went, Auldan tried hard not to look down; this was much higher than their trek up to Bleak Falls Barrow, and twice as cold. Already the air felt thin, and his heart was beginning to race. He tightened his cloak around himself and tried to take deep breaths, forcing himself to stay calm despite the fact that the clouds were getting closer and the ground was rapidly disappearing beneath them. More to distract himself than anything, he wondered aloud, "Why do you think the Greybeards want to talk to us?"

"Don't know." Fredrik shrugged. "They clearly know we're the Dragonborn, but I have no idea what they want from us."

"Me neither." Auldan frowned. "Do they want us to kill dragons? Because we've been doing that already."

"Could be." Fredrik squinted into the snow ahead. "Or maybe they think we're the chosen ones, and all that. That whole prophecy of the Last Dragonborn."

"I thought you didn't believe in prophecies."

"I don't," Fredrik said. "But they might."

Auldan pondered this as their horses climbed still higher, and Veela began to snort and whinny anxiously; he tried to stroke her mane to relax her, but she bucked away from the next turn, eyes rolling in panic. "It's okay," he soothed worriedly. "It's not that far now. You can keep going, can't you?"

The horse stared fearfully back at him, but reluctantly kept going, placing her hooves carefully in the snow. He coaxed her on as the spires of High Hrothgar began to near, and Fredrik's eyes went wide, taking in the sight. "I never thought I'd see it in person," he said. "We made it."

"It's beautiful." Auldan took in the huge structure in a kind of silent awe, admiring the swooping arches and grandiose architecture; he knew this place was very old, steeped in age like wine. Just like Bleak Falls Barrow, it was full of stories and legends, and he hoped he would get to know them all someday. "Do you think they're waiting for us?"

"Must be." Fredrik dismounted his horse, brushing snow off his armor. "Let's leave our mounts here for now. The Greybeards probably wouldn't be too happy if we barged into their hall on horseback."

"True." Auldan climbed carefully off Veela, wincing as his still-healing wounds throbbed with pain. "Ow."

"You all right?" Fredrik grabbed his shoulder to steady him. "Take it easy. Walk slow."

"I'm okay." Auldan took a moment to recover his balance, blinking spots out of his eyes. "Still a little dizzy."

"We'll go slow." Fredrik gripped his arm to keep him from falling over, helping him slowly ascend the steps. On the way, Auldan noticed a huge chest, perhaps for visitors to leave tribute for the Greybeards; there were small offerings scattered around it, flowers and bits of armor. He wondered how many pilgrims had come here, and how they were received. Did the old sages welcome visitors, or did they hide themselves away from the world like cowards, as the Nords so often claimed?

They approached the huge doors, and Fredrik let go of his arm, taking a slow breath. "I never thought I'd be here," he said. "I wonder if they can give us some answers about all this."

"About us being Dragonborn?" Auldan nodded slowly. "They probably know more than we do. We'll ask them."

"Well, no point in hesitating, then." Fredrik steeled himself, then seized the handle and slowly pulled the door open. It yielded with a slow _creak, _and before them lay the great halls of High Hrothgar.

The entrance chamber was a huge, square room, with strange designs crisscrossing the floor and scattered furniture. Auldan stepped carefully inside, wondering where the Greybeards might be; then stopped, seeing a figure in grey robes peering at them from the shadows. Clearly they had been expected after all.

A soft voice issued from the figure, quiet as a ghost. "_Dovahkiin. _You've arrived."

Auldan felt the sudden urge to kneel, and so dropped to his knees; but Fredrik remained standing, folding his huge arms. "Yes, we're here," he said. "I hope we're the ones you called up here."

The hooded figure was silent for a moment. "Odd," he said at last. "Very odd."

"What is it?" Auldan asked, curious despite himself.

"It is just... interesting. I had heard the rumors, but I must admit... I was not expecting two of you." The Greybeard slowly approached, his robes swishing softly on the stones; he studied Auldan with a keen interest, and the ranger could sense a deep intelligence behind his eyes. "Interesting," he murmured, and turned his gaze to Fredrik, looking him up and down before returning his attention to Auldan. "Two Dragonborn appear, at this moment in the turning of the age. But why?"

"We're answering your summons," Auldan said, trying to be brave. "We came to help."

"Indeed you did. Perhaps I should introduce myself." He bowed slightly in greeting. "I am Arngeir. I speak for my brethren, who are so powerful that their Voices would destroy you where you stand. You've both come a long way, haven't you?"

"Yes," Auldan said, and looked at Fredrik. "We both have."

"But I wonder..." Arngeir stepped carefully back, and now Auldan could see three other Greybeards, waiting patiently in the shadows of the room. "We must know if it is true. If there are really _two _Dragonborn. If so, it would be unprecedented in the history of Tamriel."

"We can both Shout," Fredrik said, with an uncertain glance at Auldan. "And we absorbed a dragon's soul. That means we're Dragonborn, right?"

"Both of you took the soul?" The Greybeard looked between them. "You absorbed it together?"

"Well -" Fredrik frowned at Auldan. "I mean - the soul rushed at us, and then it disappeared, and the dragon turned to a skeleton. That means we absorbed it, right?"

"But which one of you heard the dragon's voice in your mind?" Arngeir pressed. "Which one of you truly devoured it? Which one was its ultimate doom?"

Auldan hesitated. Because he knew the answer. "I heard it," he said, reluctantly; Fredrik looked at him in surprise. "I was the one who ate the soul. It's been trapped in my mind ever since - I still hear it in my dreams."

Arngeir nodded. "Just as I thought."

"But -" Fredrik flailed desperately. "I heard voices, at the word wall in Bleak Falls Barrow. And I learned the Shout. You can't tell me I'm not Dragonborn, too."

"We shall see, Nord," Arngeir said, cryptically. He gestured to his companions, who still waited silently in the darkness. "If you wish to prove it, we will give both of you a test."

"Hurry it up, then." Fredrik seemed eager to prove himself. "Tell us what to do, and we'll do it. I'll show you I'm a Dragonborn, too."

"Patience, warrior." Arngeir nodded at one of the Greybeards, who stepped forward. "This is your test. We will now see if you truly have the gift. Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice, so that we may -"

"_FUS!"_

Fredrik's Voice thundered like a cannonblast, and Borri went stumbling backwards, huffing out a surprised breath; the other Greybeards also rippled in surprise. "We were not finished explaining the test, warrior," Arngeir said, with an air of obvious amusement. "Perhaps you should have waited for Borri to prepare himself -"

"But you believe me now, don't you?" Fredrik said, irritably.

Arngeir sighed. "Yes," he said. "I was wrong to doubt you. Clearly you are capable of Shouting, at least. But is your companion?"

The Greybeards looked at Auldan, and, sensing it was his turn, Auldan took a deep breath. He felt the _Thu'um _swell in his lungs as he aimed at Borri, and barked, "_FUS!"_

Borri staggered back as the thunderclap shook High Hrothgar at the foundations, and the other Greybeards murmured in amazement. "Very good," Arngeir said, clearly surprised. "You both can Shout. But tell me, when did you acquire this ability? How did you come to know the meaning of _Fus?_"

"We were clearing out an old burial ground called Bleak Falls Barrow," Auldan said, "and we stumbled across a wall with dragon writing on it. We must have absorbed the word somehow - it was like we already knew what it meant."

"Interesting." Arngeir gestured, and burning letters seared themselves into the floor, making both Fredrik and Auldan step back on instinct. "Perhaps you can learn this word just as quickly?"

Auldan focused on the word, letting the meaning scorch itself into his mind. Somehow he could feel it in his bones, feel the power of it ripple through his marrow and veins. _Ro, _it whispered. _Ro._

He took a deep breath, and this time he felt Fredrik speak with him, joining the words together on pure instinct:

"_FUS RO!"_

The mountain itself seemed to shake, and all the Greybeards staggered, the walls of High Hrothgar echoing with the force of the impact; it felt as though a dragon had slammed into the building. Their Voices alone were powerful, but the new word and the combined strength of their _Thu'um_ had felt like pure strength, the might of the gods themselves.

And the Greybeards all bowed to them, kneeling in respect. "Dragonborn," Arngeir said, solemnly. "Welcome to High Hrothgar."

Fredrik beamed with pride. "Told you."

"Don't be a prick," Auldan said, weakly. "I didn't know we could do that."

"What's with that look on your face?" Fredrik laughed raucously. "That was _incredible! _I want to see the look on a dragon's face when we throw that at them."

"Patience," Arngeir said, clearly amused by their antics. "You have demonstrated your natural talent with the Voice, a talent that only Dragonborn show. But I still wonder why Akatosh chose this time to bring not one, but two _Dovahkiin _into the world. There may be more to the wheel of fate than we ever imagined."

"Enough of the rambling, old man," Fredrik said, before Auldan could shush him. "Are you going to tell us why you brought us here?"

"Yes. You have demonstrated your powers well enough, and now it is our turn to give you some answers." Arngeir inclined his head in a gesture of submission. "Ask me any question, and I shall answer. I am sure you have many of them."

"Who are you?" Auldan asked. "Why are you interested in us?"

"We are the Greybeards, followers of the Way of the Voice. You stand in High Hrothgar, on the slopes of Kynareth's sacred mountain." Arngeir gestured to the howling winds outside. "Here we commune with the voice of the sky, and strive to achieve balance between our inner and outer selves. We have guided those of the Dragon Blood for thousands of years."

"But why are we here?" Fredrik asked, clearly bewildered. "Why now?"

"Fate has dictated that the Dragonborn must come again." Arngeir's eyes glittered under his hood. "But I cannot yet tell you why. That is something you must discover for yourself."

"You're speaking in riddles, old man," Fredrik snapped. "Why can't you give us a proper answer?"

"To do so would be to speak words I am unsure of, and that is not the Way."

Fredrik groaned. "I'm sick of talking in circles. Auldan, you ask him something."

"Er - okay." Auldan wondered what he should ask. Surely these men held great knowledge, and he wanted to pester them with questions about Talos and Tamriel and the gods, but he settled for asking, "Who is Alduin?"

"Alduin is the World-Eater, the ender of worlds," Arngeir said. "He is the end and the beginning. He is the dark wings unfurled -"

"More fucking riddles!" Fredrik snarled. "Speak _properly, _you doddering old fool!"

"Fredrik -" Auldan warned, but Arngeir was faster.

"Hold your tongue, warrior," the Greybeard intoned softly, and the mountains shook faintly with the power of his Voice; Auldan suddenly realized that if he were to unleash his full power on them, it would rip them to shreds. "You speak to masters of the Voice, and the Way. You have no right to chastise us."

Fredrik subsided, grumbling. "Fine."

"Now, then. We have a task for you, to prove your worth." Arngeir looked at Borri, who stepped forward and breathed a soft word to the stones; fresh dragon writing blazed on the floor. "Learn these words, for they will guide you on your journey. We ask you to retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller."

Auldan started. "You don't mean _the _Jurgen Windcaller?"

"Yes. His horn is hidden away in his tomb, in Ustengrav. We ask that you find it, and in exchange, we will acknowledge both of you as Dragonborn." Arngeir looked between them. "We believe this to be an appropriate test of your powers."

"_Fine," _Fredrik spat. "We'll find your stupid horn." Then, gesturing to Auldan, "Come on. We won't get any more out of these old fools."

"Hang on," Auldan said, looking sheepishly at the Greybeards; he felt a little embarrassed at how the Nord was acting, even though he was equally frustrated with their lack of information. "We have to learn the words."

Fredrik bared his teeth. "Hurry up, then."

Auldan stared intently at the writing on the floor, letting it absorb into him and fill his mind with knowledge; fresh words surged through him, and he felt strangely as though he could leap through doorways, fly through floods. He felt unchained, free. What on Tamriel did these words do? What would happen when he spoke them? _Wuld nah kest, _the dead Nords in his mind murmured, and he felt the power of the words in his soul. His Voice.

Fredrik tapped his foot impatiently. "Can we go now?"

"Yes." Auldan gave one last polite bow to the Greybeards. "We will find your horn, and then hopefully we can have some more answers."

"You shall indeed have them," Arngeir said, inclining his head gently in farewell. "Safe travels, Dragonborn."

They left through the great iron doors, and the moment they closed Auldan whirled on Fredrik. "What the hell was that?"

"What?" Fredrik said, defensively. "They promised us answers, but they wouldn't tell us anything! What was the goddamn point of coming here if we didn't get any answers?"

"They know who we are! They can teach us how to use our Voices - isn't that worth pursuing, even if we don't know their motives yet?"

"But they're fucking _hiding _things from us, and I don't like that," Fredrik snarled. "I don't think we should trust them. They're just a bunch of old cowards. We're better off trusting ourselves."

"I thought a Nord would respect the Greybeards. They're old, and wise -"

"They're _fools!" _Fredrik hissed, and turned on his heel, storming off towards his horse. Auldan followed, boiling with rage; he didn't know why the Nord was being so stubborn about this. What was his problem with the Greybeards? What had they ever done to him?

"Listen," he said, angrily. "You were completely unreasonable and rude in there. We're supposed to be gaining allies against the dragons, and you nearly destroyed our relationship with the _four living_ _masters of the Voice_ right out of the gate. Can't you get over your personal vendettas for five damn seconds?"

"It's not a personal vendetta!" Fredrik snapped, whirling back to face Auldan. "I don't fucking trust people who lie and cheat and hide things, don't you understand? I was taught that the hard way! People who hide things and talk you in circles can't be trusted, and if you think otherwise, if you really believe in all this destiny and fate and philosophical nonsense, then you're even more naive than I thought."

Auldan felt his anger taking over now. "Don't you make this about me! I've seen a lot of shit in my life, you could hardly call me naive - _you're _the one who has crippling trust issues! You react to everyone who tries to help you by pushing them away - that's what you _always _do, because you can't fucking trust anyone and I'm sick of it! The only person you've shown any trust in so far is me!"

"Why is that, you think?" Fredrik growled. "Why do you think I don't trust anyone? Because all the world has done is screw me over, and that's what it's going to do to you. People can't be trusted, Auldan. Destiny isn't real - none of this shit is real. I never believed in anything, and that's what's kept me alive this long."

"You believed in me!"

"Yeah, well." Fredrik mounted his horse, staring angrily away from him. "Maybe I shouldn't have."

Auldan's eyes widened, stunned by the words; the Nord had never been so cruel to him before. "Fredrik -"

"I never wanted this, you understand? This Dragonborn shit, this destiny, any of it. I only wanted it because you wanted it, and going along with it was more fun than being alone." Fredrik shoved his feet into the stirrups. "But I was wrong. I'm better off alone. They called you Dragonborn, not me. Maybe they were right."

"They weren't right! You're Dragonborn just like I am, you deserve it just as much as I do -"

"I don't deserve it and you know it." Fredrik looked him in the eyes, burning blue into brown, and Auldan felt a shiver in his spine; for the first time in a long time, he was afraid of his Nord companion. He hadn't been afraid of him in a long time. "I'm no hero. I'm a killer, and that's all I'll ever be."

"That's not true."

"It is true. Do you know why I changed my last name and hid in Whiterun?" Fredrik glowered at him. "Because I was a member of the Dark Brotherhood. I was a fucking assassin. I ran away from them when the Penitus Oculatus raided the sanctuary, and Commander Maro and his men have been hunting me down ever since."

"You - you _what?_" Auldan's mind reeled at the revelation. "_Fredrik?"_

"I've killed more people than you've ever seen in your fucking life. And you know what? Maybe that's the only thing I'll ever be good at - killing people. I don't know why I thought any different." Fredrik threw down his warhammer with a decisive _clank._ "I don't want this damn thing anymore. I can't be a hero. You go do all this Dragonborn shit - you obviously want it more than I do. The Greybeards liked you better. Go take your destiny if it's so fucking important to you. I'm done."

"Don't go," Auldan said, desperately. "Fredrik."

"I'm going back to Whiterun, to live my life the way I should have been living it all along. _Alone._" Fredrik's eyes burned as he turned back to the road ahead. "Don't you dare come after me."

"Fredrik, _please."_

"Fuck you." And the Nord rode off.

Auldan watched him go, stunned, horrified and hating himself - he suddenly realized that Fredrik Hammerskull was far more than he'd realized. The man had lied to him, about _everything__. _How had he not seen the death and suffering in Fredrik's eyes for what it truly was?

But it didn't matter now. He sank to the snow and wordlessly cursed the gods. He'd ruined everything - he'd destroyed their fragile friendship with a single careless thought, he'd broken all the bonding and tentative companionship they'd built up over their journeys. He shouldn't have brought it up. Why couldn't he just have let it go? The Nord would never trust him again now. It was over.

And Fredrik... he wasn't just a thief. He was a killer. He had been one all along.

_I never taught him mercy, did I? _Now Auldan wondered how much of their relationship had been a smokescreen, how much of Fredrik's "opening up" had been another lie. He didn't want to believe it, he didn't want to think about how much of their friendship had been built on falsehoods, but he was forced to confront the fact that he'd never truly known Fredrik Hammerskull. Not at all.

_But I liked having a friend, _he thought miserably, _even if I didn't really know him._ He picked up Fredrik's beloved warhammer and stared at it for a long moment, as though if he gazed at it long enough it would bring Fredrik back to him. _It was fun not being alone, at least for a little while. _He hadn't realized how alone he was until Fredrik came along, and now his self-enforced solitude, his miserable little existence, was staring him in the face.

He was alone. So painfully, agonizingly alone in the world. And the realization of it ached like fire.

He didn't even have a home anymore.

Slowly, mournfully, he slung the Nord's warhammer over his own back, mounted Veela, and rode down the seven thousand steps of the Throat of the World, resigning himself to be alone again. Maybe that was all he would ever be.

What was the point of being the Dragonborn, the hero of the world, the chosen one, if Fredrik wasn't there to share it with him?

He guided his horse slowly down the steps, winding back down the mountain in a miserable haze. He tried not to think about what he would do now - there was no way he could get through Ustengrav without Fredrik's help. Skilled though he was, he couldn't possibly be equipped for fighting through yet another tomb without a warrior to have his back, and who knew what other trouble could be waiting for him there? There might be spiders, vampires, werewolves... he wasn't prepared for any of that. How the hell was he going to do this?

A troll howled somewhere in the distance, and he shivered, urging Veela on. He had to get off this mountain before night fell, or he'd never make it to Ustengrav.

He rode through the night, watching the stars glitter above him as he crossed through Skyrim's vast grasslands. He figured he should stop at Morthal to gear up; maybe Falion would know some new spells for him, something to combat draugr. He'd always wanted to learn those summoning spells, the ones that could bring atronachs into the world, and his old master had died before he could teach them to him. Perhaps -

"Oi, you there!"

He looked around. A scraggly old Nord was approaching his horse, limping slightly. "Hello?" Auldan said, cautiously. "Can I help you?"

"Yes." The old man smiled toothily. "You can die."

And he gestured, and three bandits rose from behind boulders and trees, aiming their bows at him. Auldan swallowed hard, realizing he was outmatched; even if he managed to kill one, the other two would put an arrow in his throat. He slowly dismounted, raising his hands in surrender. "What do you want?"

"That horse of yours, for one." The old man took Veela's reins. "And your money. How much you got?"

Auldan sighed, and detached his money purse from his belt, tossing it towards the man; he caught it easily, beaming. "I don't have much, but you can have that if you want."

"Thank you kindly." The man waved at his fellows. "Now, my associates are going to shoot you, if you don't mind, so I can loot your corpse."

Auldan scrambled to summon a shield, throwing his hands up just in time to create a greater ward - the arrows bounced harmlessly off. But as they drew swords and approached him, and he fumbled to draw Fredrik's warhammer in self-defense, he felt his wounds begin to twinge. _No, not now, _he thought desperately, but when the first bandit raised his sword and Auldan lifted the hammer to block it, his body screamed in pain, and he fell in a heap to the ground, twitching.

_Damn it all,_ he thought wearily, as the bandit readied the killing blow. _So this is how I die._

The sword gleamed in the sunlight as it came down - and then a sword sprouted from the bandit's chest, spraying blood. The man spluttered in surprise, then collapsed as a huge figure in an iron helmet withdrew his sword and slashed at the second bandit, cutting his head clean off. Auldan watched from the ground, amazed and relieved, as the stranger proceeded to cut a bloody swath through the other bandits, their screams ringing through the grasslands; for once he was grateful for the lack of mercy.

When the screams had died down, and silence remained, Auldan struggled to push himself up, wincing as his body throbbed with pain. He had no idea who had saved him, but he had a feeling, and sure enough the familiar voice said:

"You bloody fool. I leave you alone for two seconds, and you nearly get yourself killed."

He looked up, and couldn't help smiling. Fredrik had sheathed his swords and was walking towards him, looking distinctly annoyed. "Fredrik," he said. "You -"

"I know what I said." Fredrik lifted Auldan back to his feet and crushed him in a hug; the ranger wavered in surprise, then melted into his arms, relieved that his warrior companion had changed his mind. "I'm sorry. You were right, that I don't trust people and I run away from things. But I'm not running away from you ever again. You understand? Not ever."

"I'm glad." Auldan smiled, resting his head on Fredrik's shoulder; he pretended not to notice the fact that the warrior was soaked in bandit blood and smelled like a wet skeever. "You scared me for a moment there."

"Look," Fredrik said, letting go of him and giving him a sheepish smile. "When things get tough for me, sometimes I feel like I have to run. But I've got to stop doing that. If we're going to do this hero thing, I've got to see this through. We're the only ones who can save Skyrim, aren't we?"

"Yes," Auldan said. "I guess we are."

"Well, there you go." Fredrik sighed. "Can we agree not to speak of this ever again?"

"Only if you explain about the Dark Brotherhood."

Fredrik shook his head wearily. "Later. Right now I need a drink."

They retrieved their horses, and then made camp a good distance away from the bandit's corpses; they watched crows gather to peck at the bodies as they gathered wood for the fire. Fredrik didn't protest this time when Auldan lit it with magic, only grunting noncommittally. "I could have done that myself."

"Of course." Auldan sat down by the fire and rummaged in his pack, emerging with a decanter of brandy; Fredrik's eyes lit up at once.

"How long have you been carrying that around?"

"I bought it in Morthal. I figured we could have a drink together at some point." Auldan offered it to Fredrik, and the warrior snatched it at once, gulping it down greedily. "Akatosh above, take your time."

"Bah. Nords have more resistance to getting drunk than you flowery little Bretons do." Fredrik corked the bottle and gave it back to him, sighing happily. "Much better."

"Now do you want to tell me about the Brotherhood?"

"Maybe." Fredrik settled down by the fire, warming his hands over the flames. "Depends."

"On what?"

"If you'll hate me once I tell you." Fredrik eyed him. "You won't hate me, will you?"

"No. I'd never hate you."

"Good." Fredrik sat back, sighing. "I joined when I was fifteen. My parents were dead, and I'd been living on the streets. The Thieves' Guild was only giving me odd jobs, not enough to get by, and I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I figured they were my last option."

"How did you get their attention?"

"Killed an old orphanage master in Riften. Grelod the Kind. Don't let the name fool you - she was an asshole. Beat those kids and made them work like slaves." Fredrik closed his eyes, reminiscing. "I put a knife in her throat and watched her die. The very next day, I got a letter from a courier. A black handprint, and two words. _We know."_

"Then what?"

"Then they kidnapped me and asked me to kill someone. Gave me three options, three people who had bounties on their heads. A man, a woman and a Khajiit. If I killed just one, I'd be an honorary member."

Auldan watched him curiously. "Who did you pick?"

Fredrik grinned cheekily. "All of them."

"Why am I not surprised?" Auldan shook his head wearily, yet again resigning himself to the fact that his companion was slightly murder-happy sometimes. "I'm sure that impressed them."

"Yes, it did. And just like that, I was in." Fredrik shrugged. "The next few years are a bit of a blur. I killed a lot of people, did a lot of contracts, moved up in the Brotherhood. But then that damn Commander Maro started sniffing around, and one day, as I was out on a mission, he attacked our sanctuary with his men. Burned down the place and killed my brothers, put everything and everyone to the torch. When word of it reached me, I fled, and I never looked back."

"Have you ever tried to find them again?"

"No. At that point I just wanted to get out of the life and lay low, try to have a normal job and live honorably again for a while. I bought Breezehome, settled in Whiterun, changed my name, and tried to forget everything. Eventually, I did - almost."

"And then what?"

"Well, then I met you." Fredrik shrugged. "You changed my life, I discovered I was Dragonborn, and now here I am, with you. That's all there is to it."

Auldan watched him thoughtfully, realizing he'd peeled back yet another layer of the enigma that was Fredrik Hammerskull. "You're a complicated man, you know that?"

"Yes, well. Everyone is. No one's simple, however much they'd like to make you believe that." Fredrik reached for the brandy, and Auldan gave it to him; he took another long drink. "I was wrong to call you naive. I was wrong about a lot of things. Don't expect me to apologize, but I want you to know. I was wrong about you."

"It's okay," Auldan said; he hadn't expected the tough Nord to say he was sorry, but he respected him for admitting he wanted to. That was close enough, at least. "I was wrong about you, too."

"We're not so different, I guess. Funny how that works sometimes." Fredrik stood and rolled out his bedroll. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need a few hours of sleep if I'm going to be bashing in draugr skulls."

"Fair enough." Auldan took out his own bedroll, arranging it neatly by the fire. "What do you think we'll find in Ustengrav?"

"Doesn't matter." Fredrik settled down under his blankets, yawning. "As long as we find that horn and get the hell out of there."

They lay quietly in their bedrolls for a while, gazing up at the stars. Auldan found himself thinking about his family again, and why he'd left, why he'd _really _left. They had disapproved of his desire to be a wizard, of course, but there was more to it than that. There was so much more. Did he dare to tell Fredrik?

He looked over at the Nord. Fredrik was fast asleep, snoring lightly. _Maybe tomorrow, _Auldan decided, and rolled over in his blankets, closing his eyes. That particular piece of information could wait.

He dreamed about wings again, those great black wings that unfurled over the world. He dreamed about darkness, and war, and swallowed souls in the belly of a great beast, a monster that could destroy the world and everything he loved. Orange eyes peered out from the shadows of his mind, and a voice whispered: "_I'm coming for you, Dovahkiin." _It was a voice that dug claws into his brain and made ice shiver down his spine. It was the voice of death.

_Alduin, _his sleepy mind realized. _The World-Eater. _But the dream faded, and by the time he awoke in the morning, he'd forgotten all about it.

When he lifted his head from his pillow, it was to find that Fredrik had reclaimed his warhammer and was polishing it by the fire. "You got a scratch on it," he said, seeing that Auldan was awake. "Right here, along the side."

"What do you mean? That was there when you left it on the mountain."

Fredrik grunted, looking at him with an air of faint amusement. "No it wasn't."

"Fine, fine. Sorry." Auldan rose from his bedroll, stretching and yawning. "Are you ready for Ustengrav?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." The Nord mounted Yorja, and Auldan hopped onto Veela, feeling more refreshed than yesterday; he could finally get on his horse without doubling over in pain. "Do you think we'll see that spider again? The one we fought in Bleak Falls?"

"I hope not," Auldan said, shuddering at the memory. "That thing was huge. It nearly killed you."

"Well, I hope we see it again." Fredrik grinned. "That way I can smash up its other eye."

Auldan sighed. "You'll never change, will you?"

"No." Fredrik smiled. "I hope you don't, either. I like you just the way you are."

That made Auldan look at him in surprise. It was perhaps the nicest thing Fredrik had ever said to him, and it had been completely unprompted. "You do?" he ventured, unsure if he had heard the Nord correctly. "You really mean that?"

"Yeah. I do." Fredrik clapped him merrily on the back. "Don't you ever change, you hear me?"

"I won't," Auldan said, and tried to hide the little glow in his heart as they rode off for Ustengrav, side by side - together again, just as they were always meant to be. He hoped that would never change again.


	7. VII: Krent Hahnu, Broken Dreams

_Tap. Tip. Tap. _The rain clattered softly on the trees overhead, and the two bandits lounging beside the barrow mound looked up, scowling. "You think it's going to stop soon?" one said. "It's been like this for hours."

"Skyrim has weird weather," the other grumbled, shuffling her hand around. "I'm used to it by now. Are you going to play or not?"

"Fine, fine." The burly Redguard man studied his hand, then laid down a card. "Not my best move. I'll up you three."

"Up your ass, more like." The woman looked up, frowning. "Did you hear something?"

"What?" The Redguard twisted, peering critically around. Nothing moved except the rain battering the trees. "I don't hear anything."

"You sure? Because I swear I heard -"

A javelin of ice flew from the trees, piercing the woman through the stomach. She choked, flopping down onto the cards; her partner lunged up at once, fumbling for his weapon, but too late - he took a fireball to the chest and went soaring back, slamming into a boulder and lying motionless.

The rain pattered softly against their corpses as the dark-cloaked, orange-eyed wizard emerged from the trees, stepping delicately over their bodies. He peered down into the dark coils of the barrow mound, smirking. "Perfect," he said. Then he turned to the bodies and waved a dramatic hand. "Rise, my minions!"

The corpses glowed, then rose slowly to life, staggering; they picked up their weapons with a soundless, dreamy slowness, then stood waiting for orders. The necromancer laughed, delighted; this would be easier than he thought. He already had two allies, and he hadn't even entered the mound yet.

"My loyal subjects," he said. "It's time for us to -"

"Oi, fuckface!"

The necromancer turned, just in time to take a hammer to the skull; it smashed his jawbone apart, and he staggered back, roaring in rage. Fredrik grinned and swung again, and this time he struck the necromancer's neck and crumpled his throat in. The wizard flopped over, clutching his ruined throat; he twitched once, then moved no more.

Fredrik delicately flicked blood off his hammer, watching as the minions fell in heaps of bone and flesh - without their master's magic to animate them, they were corpses once more. "All right, scaredy-cat," he said. "You can come out now."

"I wasn't scared," Auldan said, emerging from his hiding place among the trees and raising an amused eyebrow at his companion. "I just thought you'd like to have the first kill."

"Wise man." Fredrik slung his hammer over his back, then knelt down and rifled through the necromancer's pockets. "Let's see if he's got any good loot."

Auldan watched in weary disdain. "You're going to search every person we kill on this quest, aren't you?"

"Hey, I never turn down free stuff." Fredrik found a bloodstained money pouch and tossed it to Auldan, who fumbled to catch it, grimacing. "And it's not like he's going to need it."

"True," Auldan allowed, and strapped the money to his belt as he looked over at the barrow mound. "So that's Ustengrav. It's smaller than I expected."

"Well, the stories always make things sound bigger than they were." Fredrik rose, wiping blood off his trousers. "Come on, let's go check it out before any more crazy wizards come along."

They headed for the mound, and as they walked Auldan pondered something that had been bothering him for a while. "Fredrik?" he ventured.

The Nord glanced at him briefly. "Yeah?"

"Why do you think the Greybeards want this horn in the first place? What are they planning to do with it?"

"I don't know. Maybe it has magical powers, or something." Fredrik shrugged. "You'd know better than I would."

"It's just... if this is a test of our powers... something doesn't add up." Auldan frowned. "Maybe you were right about doubting their motives."

"Oh, so _now _you're seeing things my way?" Fredrik chuckled. "After we're already here and raring to punch up some draugr?"

"Well, it may have taken me a while," Auldan allowed wearily. "But I am thinking twice about this. What if this isn't a good idea?"

"You want to trudge all the way back to that damn mountain and ask them?" Fredrik shook his head. "The way I see it, we're committed now. Let's just do it and try not to think about the reasons, or the consequences."

"I can't just decide _not _to think. That's not how my brain works."

"Oh?" Fredrik rapped his knuckles playfully against Auldan's forehead. "This massive wizardly brain of yours doesn't have an off switch?"

"Ha, ha." Auldan batted his hands away. "Don't do that."

"What, are you worried I'll smush your delicate little bones into skeever meat?" Fredrik stopped then, frowning. "Hey, there's another dead guy down there."

Auldan peered down into the burial mound, and realized that Fredrik was right; there was a bandit corpse inside, streaked with blood and lying against some barrels and crates. "Oh," he said. "I wonder how he got here."

"Drug deal gone wrong, probably." Fredrik hefted his warhammer and headed carefully down the stairs. "Hurry up, mincemeat, I don't like getting rained on."

"I'm coming." Auldan followed him warily, and when he reached the bottom he knelt down to study the corpse. It was an Imperial man, staring open-mouthed up into nothing. "He looks like he died recently. You think someone got here first?"

"Could be." Fredrik touched the man's neck. "Still warm."

Auldan shivered. "Creepy."

"You've seen a hundred corpses and fought a bloodsucking vampire one-on-one, and this is what weirds you out?" Fredrik gave him a deeply amused look. "Maybe the Breton constitution isn't just a stereotype."

"It _is _a stereotype, you drunken galumphing Nord. Now let's keep moving."

"If you insist." Fredrik tromped over to the huge double doors leading deeper into the burial site, yanking on the handles; they swung open with a slow rumble of metal on stone. "Looks like this is our stop."

"I'm ready." Auldan snapped his fingers, summoning fire into his hands; he led the way into the barrow this time, and Fredrik took up the rear, letting the doors fall shut with a soft _thud _behind them.

The clattering of the rain faded away as they descended, stepping carefully down a crumbling staircase; around them, the soft orange glow of the torchlight and Auldan's fire lit the tomb's walls with an eerie flame, casting strange shadows on their faces and the floor. It made little cold fingers creep up Auldan's spine, but he tried to hide his fear, seeing the cold determination in Fredrik's face. Clearly the Nord wasn't afraid.

As though reading his mind, Fredrik clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Chin up, wizard."

"Sorry." Auldan shook off the fear and took a moment to mentally brace himself, preparing for the danger ahead. "You were always the brave one."

"I know." Fredrik grinned cheekily. "I'm the best, aren't I?"

"Don't get full of yourself." Auldan frowned then, realizing they were entering a large room with a pillar in the center; around them, huge rock walls loomed. "This is a cave of some kind. I wonder -"

Just then, a soft voice issued from the tunnels ahead of them: "I think we have guests."

Both Auldan and Fredrik reacted at once, diving for cover; Auldan scrambled behind a pillar, and Fredrik ducked down under a pile of rubble. They watched as a conjurer emerged from the tunnels, followed quickly by a necromancer; together they stopped and stared down the two bandits who had just risen from their bedrolls, fumbling for their weapons.

"Now, now," one of the bandits said, cautiously. "Let's not be -"

The conjurer hurled lightning, and the battle was on. Auldan and Fredrik watched in amazement as the four battled each other with flashes of magic and steel, completely oblivious to the adventurers hiding nearby; the conjurer summoned a wolf familiar seconds before being struck down with a cry of pain, and then the two bandits went down, leaving only the necromancer.

The dark wizard glanced around warily, then grinned and snapped her fingers. The three corpses rose and shambled around, now under her control. "Excellent," she said. Then, to the conjurer's gaping-mouthed zombie, "Sorry about your unfortunate fate, Lorick. But now you can finally be of some use to me."

She headed back into the far tunnel with her undead minions staggering along behind, leaving Auldan and Fredrik alone. The two adventurers glanced at each other warily, then rose. "I think we have to follow her," Auldan whispered.

"Guess so." Fredrik shouldered his hammer, grinning. "I like a lady who takes control."

"For the love of Akatosh," Auldan muttered. "Please don't tell me you're attracted to an evil necromancer."

"What? She was kind of cute." Fredrik trailed along behind Auldan, dropping his voice lower as they tiptoed into the tunnel behind the necromancer. "Let's go see what she's up to."

They tiptoed into the next chamber, listening to the shuffling of the draugr just ahead; now they could hear the necromancer again, muttering to herself. "That woman can't be too far away. They saw her come in here a few hours ago - it's only a matter of time before a trap gets her and we loot her corpse. She can't be _that _tough."

"Woman?" Auldan whispered to Fredrik. "What woman?"

Fredrik shrugged helplessly. "No idea."

They watched from the shadows as the necromancer entered a room lined with coffins, and stopped, peering about. "No draugr left," she murmured, and gestured to her waiting minions. "Come, my pretties. Not too far now."

She headed deeper into the winding tunnels, and Auldan and Fredrik moved to follow - but just then Auldan's foot caught on a stone, and the pebble clattered merrily across the floor. _Clack. Clack. Clack._

The necromancer whirled, fire bursting to life in her hands. "Who's there?" Then she stopped, seeing Auldan and Fredrik in the firelight. "Oh! I have more guests!"

Auldan moved to fight, but Fredrik was faster - he drew a knife from his belt and hurled it, in one swift motion. It pierced the woman through the abdomen, and she staggered back, gasping in surprise. Her zombies lurched forward at once, groaning, and Auldan met them head-on with a blast of fire, scorching their withered skin off their bones; they collapsed in a pile of blackened flesh, helpless before the onslaught.

Fredrik drew his swords with a hideous _shriek _and moved to finish the wizard off, but Auldan grabbed his arm. "Wait."

"What?" Fredrik eyed him. "She's a necromancer. Let's kill her."

"She might have information." Auldan rounded on the wounded woman. "Tell us who you're looking for. Why are you here?"

"Saw a woman come in here," the necromancer wheezed, clutching the oozing hole in her stomach. "Leather armor, looked tough. She killed that bandit by the entrance. Why do you care?"

"What did she look like?"

"I don't know. Breton woman, blonde hair, pale eyes." The necromancer coughed a string of blood. "Please, spare me. I mean you no harm."

"You didn't show the same mercy to those bandits out there," Auldan said, as Fredrik stepped forward threateningly. "Why should we?"

The woman tried to reply, but spat blood, slumped to the ground, and moved no more.

Fredrik lowered his swords, sighing. "I was hoping for a killing blow."

"Well, at least you didn't smash her skull apart." Just then, Auldan noticed something - a book nestled in the wizard's robes. He knelt down as Fredrik went to search the urns, and picked up the tome, squinting to read the dusty title. Immediately a shiver wormed its way down his spine, a cold feeling growing in his gut.

It was _Immortal Blood._

He'd heard rumors of this book. They said it was the book of the vampires, a forbidden tome in many places. He'd only ever seen one copy before now, in Urag gro-Shub's collection at the College of Winterhold, and the orc had snapped a warning at him before he could so much as breathe on it. He'd always wanted to read it, even though he knew he might regret it. What terrible, awful, utterly fascinating secrets could such a tome hold? What forbidden mysteries and lost wonders could lie within, just waiting to be discovered?

And, most importantly: did he dare to find out?

He hesitated, checked to make sure that Fredrik wasn't watching, and then, in a moment of sudden decision, he silently tucked _Blood_ away into his book bag. The Nord would never have to know.

The warrior, meanwhile, was focused on rapping his knuckles on the coffins, checking to make sure there were no draugr inside. "I think we're safe this time," he said. "But let's keep an eye out."

"That's what you said last time, just before a skeleton grabbed your hand."

Fredrik shuddered. "Don't remind me."

As they headed further into the tunnels, Auldan couldn't help it; he took the book out, making sure that Fredrik couldn't see the cover - even though he knew the Nord couldn't tell a metaphor from a mouse, and was about as skilled at reading as a brain-dead orc - and turned to the first page. He started to read as they wandered through the tomb, the warrior checking every coffin along the way; they stepped over a few dead draugr, presumably the kills of the strange warrior woman who had been here earlier. Could she still be here, waiting for them at the end of the dungeon?

"Hey," Fredrik said suddenly, making him jump in surprise. "I've been thinking about something."

"Oh? I think that's a new phenomenon for you." Auldan smiled as he turned a page in the book, already drawn into the story. _The moons and stars were hidden from sight..._ "What's rattling around in that Nord brain of yours?"

"You never told me about your family. I've told you plenty about mine." Fredrik raised an eyebrow at him. "What were your parents like?"

"They were, um... they were fine. No complaints." Auldan coughed awkwardly into his sleeve. "Do we have to talk about this?"

"Well, you made me tell you about the Dark Brotherhood and my father and my mother, so this is only fair."

"Okay, okay." Auldan fumbled for what he could say. "Well... I come from the Metonius house, you know that. My parents expected me to grow up to be a nobleman, like them."

"But you didn't want to."

"Of course not. It was stifling, and I wanted to be a wizard and go on adventures."

"Is that all, though?" Fredrik studied him. "Is that really the reason you ran away?"

Auldan opened his mouth to say _yes, _then shut it. "No," he relented. "It wasn't."

"Well, why then?"

"It's... it's complicated."

They walked in silence for a while. Then Fredrik said, "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I won't hate you."

Auldan stared at him, surprised; it was almost like the Nord had read his mind. "I -"

"You don't have to tell me, though. If you don't want to. It's okay."

He hesitated, pondering the risks. But before he could say anything more, they entered the next chamber and beheld their next challenge.

A huge, expansive cavern lay open before them, tinted soft blue by the light of the glowing mushrooms on the walls. It was an extraordinary sight, and Auldan would have stopped to admire it if a skeletal draugr hadn't charged out of the tunnel to their left, hissing and raising a battleaxe.

He whirled and thrust out a hand, blasting the thing with ice. It wavered, shivering, and then collapsed and broke into pieces; he lowered his hand, satisfied. "Well, that was eas -"

"AULDAN!" Fredrik barked, but it was too late. A second draugr had emerged from the tunnel behind them, unexpected given the state of the crumbling coffins, and Auldan turned too slow to dodge its strike. It swung its hammer at his head - and somehow instinct gripped him and he roared words he'd never spoken before:

"_Wuld nah kest!"_

It was as though a great wind seized him, giant god's fingers yanking him out of the way. He reappeared, gasping, twenty feet behind the draugr; it reeled in surprise, snapping its jaws, a second too slow for him to hurl a fireball that charred it into cinders.

He stood there for a moment, wheezing and marveling at what he'd just done. "The Shout," he managed, when he finally had his breath back. "The one the Greybeards taught me. It does _that?"_

"Apparently," Fredrik said, clearly as startled as Auldan was. "Why couldn't I have learned that?"

"Well, somebody was intent on storming out of there before he could hear the words," Auldan reminded him. "Or did you forget?"

Fredrik grunted noncommittally. "Whatever. You can keep that one. I like our _fus ro _better -"

"_Careful," _Auldan snapped, as the ground shook lightly. "We could bring this whole place down if you say those words too loudly. Our _Thu'um _is getting more powerful - we can't just go around yelling out dragon words anymore."

"Sorry." But Fredrik grinned, clearly unruffled. "I can't wait to blast apart a dragon with that one. I wonder if it'll peel the skin off his bones."

"That sounds disgusting," Auldan muttered, remembering one of the reasons he'd decided to be a vegetarian in the first place. "How do you even enjoy the taste of meat, anyway?"

"Easy," Fredrik smirked. "It's delicious."

Auldan sighed and looked further down the tunnel, where the first draugr had emerged. "We'll discuss your eating habits later. It seems we have a way forward. Shall we?"

"Lead the way, wizard." Fredrik hummed merrily along behind him. "I need to cook you a good meal sometime, a nice hearty hunk of horker meat. Then you'll understand what everyone gets so excited about."

"Do you even know how to cook?"

"I made you tea, didn't I?" Fredrik pointed out.

Auldan barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Putting a bag in a cup and heating it up does not count as cooking."

"Close enough," the Nord grumbled, stepping over a discarded roll of linen on the floor. "Are we getting close to the horn yet? This place is giving me a headache."

"You sound like my sister on a road trip." Auldan took out _Immortal Blood _again and opened it to where he'd left off, unable to resist the urge to keep reading. He ignored Fredrik's surprised look in his direction; clearly the Nord was startled, and at first he worried that the man could read after all, and had realized what he was perusing. But then he suddenly realized the truth - he'd never mentioned his sister before. Why had he never mentioned her?

_Because you don't like talking about your family, either, _a little voice whispered in his head. _Just like Fredrik._

He shooed the voice irritably away and said, "Did I ever tell you about my sister?"

"No." Fredrik sounded intrigued. "I never had any siblings. What was she like?"

"Her name was Lenora." Auldan turned a page in his book, ignoring the gentle rattling of his heart; he hadn't spoken about her in a long time. "She was a handful when we were little, but she loved me, and she protected me from my bullies. She was one of my only friends growing up. She taught me my favorite spell."

"Which one?"

He snapped his fingers, and summoned a little ball of glowing white light - a _magelight. _"This one."

"That's cute." Fredrik swiped gently at the ball, and it darted away from his fingers, winking out. "Where is she now?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard from her in a while." He looked down and focused on flipping through his book, avoiding Fredrik's eyes. "She went... bad. That's part of the reason why I don't like necromancy, and dark magic. Because I don't want to become her."

"You never told me any of this," Fredrik said, surprised. "What happened to her?"

"She wanted to become the most powerful wizard in Tamriel, and gain immortality." Auldan still remembered the light in her eyes, the smile on her face when she spoke of power and the world she would create someday. He had been too young to see the darkness in that smile. "So she went looking for a way to find it. Her search for it led her to a vampire lord, who promised her immortality and power beyond her wildest dreams, and asked for a terrible price."

"By all the planes of Oblivion," Fredrik muttered. "She must have been mad."

"Yes, she was. And she was even madder to agree to it. After that... well, a lot of things happened," he said vaguely, so as not to horrify Fredrik with the details, "and it almost killed all of us. In the end, her short-sighted desire for power nearly destroyed my family, and she fled High Rock rather than face the consequences of her actions. That's why, when I grew up and wanted to travel to the College of Winterhold to learn magic, my parents refused to allow it. They were afraid of me following in her footsteps."

"Oh." Fredrik watched him thoughtfully, careful not to ask too many questions; it was suddenly clear to Auldan that he understood the wizard was opening up to him again, and he wanted to encourage it, not dismiss it. The realization was strangely heartwarming. "I never knew that. Is that why they weren't happy about you going away and learning magic?"

"Yes. It wasn't why I ran away, but it was the first time I ever disagreed with them, and it wouldn't be the last." Auldan looked at the floor. "They were so worried I'd be like her - they were worried that I would crush their hopes again, and bring dishonor to the family name. But I was determined not to let myself be tempted by evil, and I never have been. Not once."

"That's more than most men can say," Fredrik said, clapping him bracingly on the shoulder. "So you really don't know where she is?"

"I don't even know if she's alive," Auldan confessed. "I'm not sure if she fled to Skyrim, or Elsewyr, or gods know where else. For all I know, she's joined some necromancer coven and has forgotten all about me. For all I know she's dead in a cave somewhere."

"But you want to find her." Fredrik searched his face. "Don't you?"

"Maybe." He shrugged, pretending not to care even as his heart ached. "I do hope I find her someday, wherever she is. But I'm not holding my breath. This world is a cruel place to daedra worshippers. Maybe the Vigilants of Stendarr got to her before I could."

"I hope you find her," Fredrik said, simply. "Someday."

Auldan looked wistfully at the place where his _magelight _had died out. "I hope so too."

"Do you have any other siblings?"

"Yes, I have an older brother. Cain." Auldan closed the book and tucked it back into his book bag. "I haven't seen him in a while, either. As far as I know he's back in High Rock, with the rest of my family."

"What's he like?"

"Strong," Auldan admitted, sheepishly. "A warrior, like you. He stands half a head taller than me and he drinks like a demon - you'd probably like him."

Fredrik grinned cheekily. "From the way you describe him, I bet I would."

And then they stopped. They had wound their way through a significant portion of the dungeon throughout the conversation, noting dead draugr and skeletons all along the way, and now they had just encountered a very strange sight.

Before them stood a closed portcullis, and three stones upright on the floor, each inscribed with strange runes. Auldan frowned, waving his hand cautiously over one of them; it flared with an eerie red energy, and he jumped back in surprise. "Whoa."

"What do they do?" Fredrik wondered aloud.

"I don't know." But Auldan had just noticed something else - the moment he had moved in front of it, the first of the three layered portcullises had opened. When he stepped back, it shut.

"Okay," Fredrik said, slowly; he had realized the same thing. "I may be stupid, but I think we have to run past these stones really fast."

Auldan frowned. "But they turn off when we move away. We'll never make it in time."

"Well, do you have a better idea, Mister Wizard?"

He looked at the stones. Then he looked at the portcullises. "Actually," he said slowly, "I do."

Carefully, he moved to stand in front of the first stone, positioning himself so that he was staring straight down the aisle. He knelt down and took a few steadying breaths.

All the while Fredrik watched, in obvious bewilderment. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh." Auldan closed his eyes, focusing. Then, opening them, he barked, "_Wuld nah kest!"_

The wind seized him again, and he was hurtling down the hallway at breakneck speed - activating all three stones at once. With a rusty creak, the three portcullises slid open, then slammed shut. And he turned around, delighted, to find himself on the other side.

Fredrik laughed. "That was amazing!"

"Yeah, it was!" Auldan grinned, relishing his victory; then he stopped, realizing something. "Oh," he said. "Shit."

"Oh." Fredrik realized it too. He looked uncertainly at the stones, then at the portcullises. "Er - looks like we'll have to split up, then?"

"Come on, you can learn the Shout from me, can't you?"

"I don't know how it's supposed to work. I don't think I can." He visibly braced himself. "It's all right, Auldan, really. I'll wait for you here. Don't let the skeletons bite."

"Are you sure? I know you don't like draugr -"

"I'll be fine," Fredrik snapped. "Hurry up before I change my mind."

And so Auldan set off alone, a bit tentatively; he suddenly realized he hadn't been without Fredrik at his side in a while. Granted, he'd been alone after their argument yesterday, but still. He steeled himself for a conflict as he entered the next chamber, praying there wouldn't be any more draugr to deal with.

But there were no draugr - only a hallway full of strange floor panels, carved like circles. He frowned, and tentatively tested one with his foot - then yelped and jumped back as fire blasted from it. Clearly he was not supposed to step on these.

"Okay," he said, more to calm himself down than anything. "Don't touch the panels."

It reminded him of an old game he used to play, he reflected as he carefully picked his way around them. _The floor is lava, _he thought with a wry smile. He wondered if Nord children knew that game, too.

As he went, he whistled idly to himself. The Song of the Dragonborn still lingered in his mind, like a distant anthem. "_Dovahkiin," _he hummed, stepping carefully over a panel. "_Dovahkiin, _by his honor is sworn - _aieeee!" _This as a giant spider fell from the ceiling, and he screamed and flung a fireball on pure instinct alone, pretending not to have been horribly startled. It flew back in a charred heap, and he stood gasping for a moment to let his heart resume beating.

"Gods," he said at last, furious at himself for letting such a stupid thing scare him; it was just a spider, after all. A hideously overgrown Skyrim spider with giant snapping mandibles, granted, but still. "I hate those things."

He stepped over the last of the panels, blasted away some spiderwebs, pulled a chain to open a portcullis, and there, at last, was his prize.

Before him lay a massive treasure chamber, strangely lit and hued with deep blues from the water along the sides, almost as large as the cavern outside; and as he stood gaping at the sight, there was a rumbling sound like a dragon's roar. He lifted his hands instinctively to protect himself, but the sound was coming from the water lining the sides of the room, where huge statues were rising, as though triggered by his entrance. They stopped in place with a loud _clunk, _and revealed...

...a small, plain altar, nothing extraordinary at first glance. _Well, what was I expecting?_ he mused as he stepped carefully onto the bridge and crossed the water. _A gilded sarcophagus? _The ancient Nords certainly hadn't been keen on such gaudy decorations, of course, but somehow he'd hoped the tomb of Jurgen Windcaller himself, the legendary hero of the Nords, would have been a little more impressive.

He approached the tomb tentatively, and touched the writing on the base, marveling at how old this must be. Then he frowned, realizing an odd detail. Why was that writing in Daedric, of all the languages?

But that was a mystery for another day. He smiled and looked up, confidently expecting to see the horn clutched in the stone hand protruding from the top of the coffin -

\- only to find a small, handwritten note. The horn was nowhere to be found.

His mind went blank for a moment. _No. _He'd come all this way, braved all these dangers, nearly destroyed his friendship with Fredrik, only to find that some opportunistic, twice-fucking treasure hunter had come here first?

He roared in rage, and snatched the note from the stone hand, nearly tearing it in his frustration. He tried his best to parse the words through a haze of mounting anger.

_Dragonborn,_

_I need to speak to you. Urgently._

_Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you._

_\- A friend_

Auldan crumpled up the note, seething, and threw it into the water. He was less angry now that he knew this mysterious treasure hunter was willing to negotiate, but he still needed a moment to be frustrated that all this effort had been spent for nothing.

Who was this strange woman, anyway? He pondered the issue as he crossed back over the bridge to retrieve Fredrik. It must have been that woman in armor the necromancer had mentioned, but he hadn't the slightest idea who she was talking about. He racked his brain, trying to remember where he'd seen a Breton woman with silver eyes. Surely he'd met her before, surely he'd heard rumors... but try as he might, he came up empty. He'd just have to meet her and see for himself.

He stepped carefully back through the trapped room, walked up to the portcullises where he'd left his friend, peered through the bars to see if Fredrik was still waiting for him, and saw... nothing.

He sighed and said loudly, "It's not funny, Fredrik. Come back over here."

Silence.

Okay, now he was concerned. His heart set up a gentle pattering against his ribcage as he rapped his knuckles on the portcullis, trying to find a way to open it again. There had to be a switch, or a lever of some kind - he cast helplessly around, but found nothing. Perhaps the whirlwind Shout would carry him through walls? But no, that was ridiculous.

"Fredrik," he roared, and the cavern shook with his _Thu'um;_ he injected as much strength as he could into the Shout, praying the Nord hadn't fallen off one of the cliffs they'd passed earlier. "Fredrik, answer me!"

No response.

He gritted his teeth, resolving himself to the only way forward. He stepped back, took a deep breath, and aimed his _Thu'um _at the metal portcullis, teeth shaking with the force of his bellow:

"_Fus ro!"_

The cavern walls shook with the earthquake of his Voice, and the metal screamed and crumpled in the middle, but it wouldn't break. He took a deeper breath, ready to try again -

"Oi, you bloody idiot. What are you doing?"

Auldan nearly sagged with relief. Fredrik had wandered back over to the portcullis, and now leaned his elbow casually against the wall, grinning. "You asshole," Auldan said, too relieved to be angry. "Why didn't you answer me the first two times?"

"It was fun watching you Shout yourself hoarse." Fredrik wandered over to the stones to let Auldan back in. "Did you find the horn?"

"Not quite. I found a note from that woman - she must have found it first. She told us to rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant, and then she'd meet us to... negotiate, I suppose."

Fredrik sighed. "Bloody typical. But at least she didn't just swipe it and run." He waved his hand in front of the stones, and opened the first portcullis, letting Auldan step through. "What else did it say?"

"She knew we were Dragonborn, too," Auldan said, recalling the first line of the note. "Obviously she wasn't just an ordinary bandit."

"Well, so what? Everyone's heard by now." Fredrik shrugged. "Or did you forget that we're celebrities?"

"I suppose." But Auldan had a strange feeling that this was going to be more than they'd bargained for. "Let's get out of here. This place is starting to creep me out."

"Seconded." Fredrik opened the second portcullis, and Auldan stepped through, letting it fall shut behind him.

"Okay," he said. "Open the last one."

Fredrik smiled. "No."

Auldan stopped and stared. "What?"

"I don't think so." Fredrik grinned. "This is the only time I've ever had leverage over you, and I plan to use it."

"..._What?" _Auldan spluttered, begrudgingly realizing that he was trapped between the gates; he could only get out if Fredrik activated the last stone, and the Nord wasn't moving anytime soon. "You little -"

"You heard me." Fredrik smirked, leaning against the last stone - just shy of triggering it, but not far enough. "I'll only open this portcullis on one condition."

"Okay, fine," Auldan grumbled, folding his arms. "Tell me, you stupid thick-headed Nord. What do you want?"

He expected Fredrik to crack another joke, or say something sarcastic. But the Nord suddenly went serious. "Be honest with me," he said. "Completely honest. No lies."

"I've always been honest with you," Auldan said, warily. "When have I ever lied?"

"You haven't. Not directly, anyway. But I think I have you figured out now." Fredrik lifted his arm from the stone and walked over, stopping in front of the portcullis; he grabbed the bars with his meaty fingers. "Tell me honestly, and don't lie. When were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"You know what."

Auldan stared, baffled. He had no idea what Fredrik was talking about. "I'll need a little more explanation than that."

Fredrik's blue eyes drilled into him. "The real reason you ran away."

"Why are you so fixated on this?" Auldan said, ignoring the cold fist that seized his heart. He couldn't possibly know. Could he?

As though reading his mind, Fredrik said, "I didn't tell you everything, when I took you to Falion to heal you. You figured that out, didn't you?"

"He didn't tell you -"

"He told me," Fredrik said, still watching him. "He told me everything."

Auldan let out a slow breath. "Fuck," he said. "You know."

"I'm not angry."

"You must be. You hate me now, don't you?"

"No." Fredrik released the bars, and walked over to the stone. He waved a hand in front of it, and the portcullis slid open with a soft _creak; _Auldan stepped through warily, watching the Nord for a reaction. He expected the man to leap at him with his swords drawn, but the Nord seemed perfectly calm. "Your sister. Was it her?"

"Yes."

"I figured it was. And then you ran away because you were ashamed to tell your parents. You didn't want them to see you as a monster." Fredrik studied him. "Then you went to Falion. You had him cure you. That's why you hate soul gems."

"I never want to use one again." Auldan knew the jig was up now; he had no choice but to tell him. "I still think about the man I killed for it. I can never use a soul gem again. Not after how I used that one."

Fredrik took Auldan's chin gently, lifting it to study his teeth. He gingerly poked the sharp canines with his thumb. "You don't have the eyes anymore, but you still have the teeth. Those must not go away."

Auldan stared at the floor. "You can hate me. It's okay."

"Why would I hate you? We've been through too much for that." Fredrik let go of his chin and folded his brawny arms. "We're friends, aren't we? And Falion cured you. You're not one of them anymore."

"Not anymore." Auldan ran his tongue over his teeth, shivering. "Never again."

"You knew that fire was Alva and Laelette's weakness, too. That was the other thing that tipped me off." Fredrik looked at him thoughtfully. "I'm glad Falion found a way to reverse it, but even if you were still a vampire, I'd still adventure with you. It wouldn't change a thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You wouldn't hurt me, would you?" Fredrik clapped a hand on his shoulder merrily, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "You'd never snack on me."

Auldan managed a weary laugh. "No, I wouldn't. I imagine you would taste bad."

"Ah, and now I realize why you're vegetarian, too." Fredrik chuckled. "Because you never want to suck blood again."

"Yes, very clever." Auldan sighed. "Besides, meat tastes terrible anyway. I don't miss it."

"Remind me to make you that horker steak sometime." Fredrik draped an arm around him as they walked back through the dungeon, just like the old days; Auldan couldn't help but smile, despite the fact that the Nord now knew his greatest secret. He'd lost his curse a long time ago, but there were still remnants left in him, the lingering traces of darkness that Falion hadn't quite been able to scrub away. The teeth, the pale skin, the occasional sting when he walked into daylight too fast. He was surprised that Fredrik had put the pieces together - but then again, he'd long ago figured out that the Nord was much smarter than he let on.

"Look at us," he murmured, as they left Ustengrav behind. "The former vampire and the Dark Brotherhood assassin. We're really something, aren't we?"

"Hey, at least we're heroes now," Fredrik said cheerily. "We've left all that behind us now. I'm not going back to my old life, and neither are you."

"Yes. I suppose you're right." Auldan smiled faintly. "Unless you're planning on ditching me again and running back to the sanctuary."

"What? I would never." Fredrik grinned. "I like you too much for that."

"Uh-huh." But Auldan sighed fondly. "I'm really starting to hate how much you've grown on me."

"I'm like a fungus," Fredrik smirked.

"Yick." For the second time that day, Auldan had to try very hard not to roll his eyes. "Too much information, but thank you."

"Soft-skinned Breton turnip farmer."

"Dunderheaded Nordic moron."

They continued to trade insults as they retrieved their horses and rode away from the burial mound, headed back to Riverwood to meet with their mysterious thief. Along the way, Auldan pondered what he'd told Fredrik, and wondered if he might run into his sister again. He had a vague idea of where she might have gone, but he didn't dare explain to his Nord companion about the Volkihar Clan and the vampire lords and all the plans she had told him they would achieve together. _"We'll blot out the sun," _she had told him, with that fiendish, bloodstained smile. _"We'll conquer the world and plunge it into darkness. We can do it together. You and me."_

_"Never," _he'd said.

And she had laughed. _"Someday, you'll see it my way."_

He hoped that day would never come. He'd promised himself he would never give in to the darkness again, the blood magic and the necromancy and the soul trapping and all of it. He'd never, ever let it tempt him again.

_I will save this world, _he swore to himself. _I'll bring Alduin down, stop the war, and save Skyrim. __Not destroy it._

He could only hope it wasn't too late.

* * *

_A/N: Hi, readers! A few quick clarifying notes for the curious loremaster:_

_1) Yes, I know that the portcullises in the Ustengrav whirlwind puzzle remain open once you pass them in the game. But I wanted them to stay closed here, because drama._

_2) The Metonius family is not part of the official, canonical Skyrim lore, so a lot of the stuff you are now learning about them is invented by me. You'll find out more about their history and members later, but suffice it to say that Auldan's family is... interesting._


	8. VIII: Alok Dez, Arisen Fate

Auldan had only just tied up his horse outside the gates of Riverwood, dismounted, and dusted off his traveling clothes when he heard a familiar voice shout his name. "Auldan!"

He turned just in time for a tiny body to collide with his, fisting little hands in his shirt. He laughed and embraced Dorthe as she clung to him tightly, with Frodnar right on her heels and Stump trotting cheerily along behind them. "Hello, you two. I missed you." This was his favorite part of returning to Riverwood - the children were always here to greet him. "How have you been? How's Riverwood?"

"We've been fine," Dorthe said, releasing him to look at him poutily. "And so has Riverwood. But don't go away for that long again. You were gone for _days."_

"It's _boring_ without you," Frodnar complained. "I couldn't prank any of the guards without your spells."

"Sorry. I had important business to attend to." That was the understatement of the year, but Auldan didn't know how to explain his newfound destiny, his quest to defeat Alduin, and his friendship with the grumpy Nord in less than a few sentences. "Listen, I've got to see somebody at the Sleeping Giant Inn. Can I tell you a story tomorrow?"

"Okay, but you have to promise," Dorthe said, and then she spotted Fredrik; the huge Nord was busily picking a burr out of his horse's hair, muttering curses. Her eyes went wide. "Wow. Who's that?"

"His name is Fredrik," Auldan said. "He's my friend."

"He's big," Dorthe said, worriedly. "Is he going to hurt anyone?"

"Isn't he the big scary Nord who robbed Orgnar?" Frodnar tacked on, helpfully. "He's probably dangerous."

"Yes, but it's a long story. He's a good man." Auldan looked up then, noticing that it was almost evening; the children were probably breaking their curfew. "Go back home, now. Your parents will be missing you, and it's getting late."

"But I want to play hide-and-seek," Dorthe whined, and Auldan smiled and ruffled her hair affectionately.

"We can play tomorrow," he said. "I promise I'll be here in the morning. Now run along."

"Okay," Frodnar groused, and they darted back off to their parents' houses. Auldan looked back at Fredrik, who was stomping up with a sour look on his face.

"Let's meet this thief," he said. "I have plenty of things to say to her."

"Don't kill her, okay?" Auldan said wearily, as they headed towards the Sleeping Giant. "It sounds like she just wants to talk."

"Yes, but she could have mailed us a letter," Fredrik pointed out irritably. "Instead of going into Ustengrav before us and stealing our fucking horn and wasting us a bunch of fucking time."

"No swearing while the children are around."

Fredrik scowled. "Don't tell me what to do."

Auldan sighed. "Look, I know this has got you pissed off, but can you at least _try _to be in a good mood while we talk to the delicate villagers who can call the guards on us at any time?"

"Yeah, yeah. I won't hurt anybody." Fredrik pushed open the door of the inn and stalked inside, leaving Auldan to follow reluctantly in his wake.

Orgnar looked up at once as they entered, and his eyes narrowed. "You again, Nord? I thought you'd never come back."

"I'm not in the mood for bullshit today," Fredrik snapped, as Auldan looked around and wondered where Delphine had gone. "I need the attic room."

As if on cue, Delphine emerged from the side room, wiping her hands on a towel. "The attic room, you say?"

"Yes," Fredrik snarled. "Hurry up and give me the fucking key. I have business here."

Auldan, meanwhile, had just realized something. He stared at Delphine, and the necromancer's voice echoed in his mind. _Breton woman, blonde hair, pale eyes. _There was no way...

"Where did you hear we had an attic room?" Delphine frowned, obviously bewildered. "You must be mistaken."

"No, I'm not mistaken. Now give me the damn key before I break somebody's neck," Fredrik growled, and Auldan grabbed his arm, worried he might actually lash out if Delphine didn't hand it over.

To her credit, Delphine was utterly unfazed. "I don't tolerate threats of violence in my inn. Please get out of my establishment before I throw you out myself."

"Oh, and how are you going to do _that?" _Fredrik bellowed, but Auldan seized him by the shoulders and bodily held him back. "What are you doing? Geroffme!"

"You're making a scene!" Auldan hissed. "If you keep up like this she'll call the guards, and then what -"

"Don't TOUCH me!" Fredrik roared, and he struck too fast for Auldan to react - and with all the fearsome raging strength of an angry Nord, there was no way the slight Breton could compete. The blow to his jaw hit him like a freight train, with such force that it sent him sprawling backwards, his back and head slamming hard against the floor and sending a jolt of pain through his body.

He lay there gasping for a while, trying to collect his bearings and figure out why the room kept spinning. Above him, he dimly heard Fredrik say, "Oh, fuck. I didn't mean -"

"Get out of my inn!" Orgnar bellowed. "Before I call someone in to beat you senseless!"

"No, no, I didn't mean -" And to Auldan's amazement, the Nord sounded genuinely frightened; he fell to his knees beside him, and his hands gripped Auldan's shoulders, gingerly touching his jaw. "Fuck, I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. Can you hear me?"

"I'm okay," Auldan managed, weakly; the stinging, sharp pain in his face was receding now, but there was an ominous, pounding ache in his jaw that made him wonder if he wasn't so okay. "Orgnar, don't arrest him -"

"Tell me one reason why I shouldn't!" Orgnar sounded ready to kick the Nord's teeth out. "Come here and get some, you little -"

"Easy," Delphine snapped. "Everyone calm down. It was an accident. Fredrik, bring him into this room over here, I have healing potions. Orgnar, we don't have to call the guards on everyone who gets into a scuffle, do we?"

"We _can_," Orgnar grumbled, but went back to polishing the countertops, glaring in the Nord's direction.

Auldan was dimly aware of being lifted into Fredrik's arms, and wearily resigned himself to his fate as the Nord carefully carried him into the side room of the inn. The Nord was being incredibly gentle, unlike his usual rough-and-tough way of treating things; he cradled Auldan like he was made of porcelain, murmuring sheepish apologies, and the ranger suddenly wondered if Fredrik now realized how bad his anger issues had become. _This probably isn't the first time he's hurt someone close to him out of anger, _he thought, with a twinge of sadness on the Nord's behalf. Yet again, he found himself feeling empathy for his burly warrior companion.

"Over here," Delphine said, and Auldan felt himself being lowered gingerly into a bed; then, to his mixed amusement and fondness, he heard Fredrik ask worriedly,

"Is he going to be okay?"

"He's fine. You clocked him pretty good, though." Delphine probed Auldan's face, checking for damage. "You're lucky you didn't snap his jaw in half."

"I'm sorry." To Auldan's increasing astonishment, the Nord suddenly seized his hand, gripping his fingers tightly and peering down at him with those terrified blue eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you."

_Gods, _Auldan thought. He'd never seen Fredrik this scared. Was the Nord really that worried about him?

"Drink this." Delphine touched a potion to his lips, startling him back to earth. "It'll heal the bruising, but it'll still twinge for a few days."

Auldan drank; it was thick, and tasted vaguely like cherries. He felt warmth spread through his face, and then the pain faded away; he probed his jaw, and found it healed. "Thank you," he said. He knew from experience how difficult those potions were to make.

"No problem." Delphine set the empty vial down and folded her arms, looking between them. "All right, now fess up. Which one of you is the Dragonborn?"

Auldan smiled; now it all made sense. "I should have known you were our thief." But Fredrik's jaw dropped; clearly he hadn't been expecting this.

"What the fuck?" he said, amazed. "It was _you _all along?"

"Yes." Delphine shrugged. "So much for my cover. But you didn't answer my question - who's the Dragonborn? One of you has to be."

"Well, that's a funny story," Auldan said, as Fredrik gripped his shoulders and helped him sit up. "We're both the Dragonborn."

Delphine cocked a skeptical eyebrow, clearly not believing him. "You don't say."

"I know it sounds strange." Auldan rubbed his jaw; it still prickled a little. "But we can prove it to you."

"I certainly hope so," Delphine said. "Because I have a job for you, if you're truly the _Dovahkiin. _If that Dragonstone you brought me is any indication, there's a dragon rising from its tomb in Kynesgrove, and we're going to ride there and stop it."

"Hang on a minute," Fredrik said, as Auldan opened his mouth to agree. "You can't go making demands here. You stole the horn from us, you give it back first and you explain your damn self. No sending us on another stupid fetch quest without giving us some answers."

"It's not a stupid quest," Auldan said, irritably. "If we can save Kynesgrove from a dragon -"

"No, he's right," Delphine said. "I've been unreasonable with you, and I apologize. Here is your horn." She walked over to her dresser, unlocked a hidden drawer, and took out the horn; she offered it to Fredrik, who took it, grumbling, and tucked it into his knapsack. "Now, if you accompany me to Kynesgrove and show me your powers, I promise I will give you all the answers you deserve. Deal?"

"Deal," Auldan said, before Fredrik could argue the terms further. "We'll help you."

"Good. Meet me there by tomorrow evening, and arm yourself - the confrontation might turn ugly." And Delphine strode out.

Fredrik turned back to Auldan at once, clearly worried. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me so much." Auldan massaged his jaw gingerly, getting the feeling back. "I might need some dental work, though."

"I'm sorry." Fredrik looked as sheepish as Auldan had ever seen him. "You're not angry, are you?"

"Well, I'm a little annoyed that you nearly cracked my skull. But I'll get over it."

Fredrik stared at his shoes, muttering something under his breath.

"What?"

"I said I need to work on that," he said. "Not getting so angry. I could have killed you."

"It's fine -"

"No, it's not fine. I nearly blew it with the Greybeards, and now I nearly blew it again here. I'm a terrible partner." Fredrik kicked at the side of the bed. "You probably think I'm an idiot."

"You're not stupid," Auldan reassured him; he could always tell when the Nord's insecurities were coming back again. "I've known you long enough to figure that out. You just have some anger issues, is all."

"Well, I'll work on it," Fredrik said, decisively. "I'll be a better partner to you. I promise."

Auldan stared at him, surprised. "You know, I think this is the first time you've committed to genuine self-improvement."

Fredrik raised an amused eyebrow. "Do you have an issue with that?"

"Well, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. So I'm proud of you for that, at least."

"You've got a strange sense of humor, Auldan." Fredrik rose from the bed, sighing. "We should work on that, too."

Auldan looked at him, and then laughed as something occurred to him. "You're going to hate me for this."

"What?"

"It's just that we sound like a couple again," he said. "Talking about our feelings, and improving ourselves for each other."

Fredrik sighed. "Is this the part where you admit you're secretly in love with me?"

"No," Auldan said, amused. "But it's nice that you think you would meet my standards."

"What, I'm not good enough for you?" Fredrik snorted. "I'll have you know I make _excellent _Amulet of Mara material."

"Yes, because Carlotta was practically swooning over you back in Whiterun." Auldan stood, dusted off his robes, and headed out of Delphine's room, with Fredrik following close behind. "She was so enamored with you that she asked you to never speak to her again."

"I prefer to think she's just playing hard to get."

"Sure she was." Auldan exited the inn, holding the door open so Fredrik could step down beside him. "Now which way is it to Kynesgrove? You know Skyrim better than I do."

"Northeast, I think. Might take us a day or two." Fredrik looked at Auldan as they went to untie their horses. "Listen -"

"Hm?"

"Never mind." Fredrik looked away, suddenly sheepish again. "Forget I said anything."

"No, you were going to tell me something. What is it?"

"It's nothing." The big Nord untied his horse and climbed into the saddle. "Let's get going before the sun sets."

They rode for Kynesgrove, watching the gentle grasslands and rolling slopes of Skyrim drift along beside them. It was surprisingly peaceful, given how violent and wild the land tended to be, and Auldan found himself reflecting on their adventure so far - the tombs, the hills, the thieves, the scoundrels, the treasure.

"You know, I've never actually seen what an Amulet of Mara looks like," he said. "I know you can get them in Riften, but I've yet to try one myself."

"They're nothing special," Fredrik said. "Usually just a pretty chain and some moonstones. The value comes from the meaning, not the looks."

"And the meaning is that you're in love with a person, if you give them your amulet. Right?"

"Sometimes. Or you can just wear one to signify you're looking for someone." Fredrik shrugged. "I bought one a few years ago from Maramal, but I've never worn it in public. Don't really know why."

"You were talking about love a while back, when we went to Morthal," Auldan said. "Is it on your mind again?"

"Well, isn't that what men are supposed to talk about? Women, beer and dragons?"

Auldan couldn't help but laugh at that. "What a regressive view of gender roles. And here I was thinking you Nords were _progressive._"

"Ha, ha."

They rode in silence for a while, the fog curling gently around their horses. Then Fredrik said, "What was it like?"

"Hm?"

"Being a vampire," he said. "What did it feel like?"

Auldan shuddered. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Sorry. I was just curious." Fredrik watched the grasses slide by. "I just keep thinking about what you told me, in Ustengrav. I've never met an ex-vampire before."

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Okay, okay." Fredrik grinned. "Do you know -"

"Stop the horses," Auldan said.

"What? I was just -"

"_Stop the horses."_

Fredrik reined in his horse at once, eyes wide; he was clearly surprised by Auldan's tone. "You okay?"

"Shut up." Auldan dismounted his mare, staring at the figure sitting in the road. "Ride away. Right now."

"What -"

_"Go_."

Fredrik looked at him for a long moment, then turned and rode away; before long he had disappeared over the horizon. Auldan kept his eyes fixed on the hooded figure, unable to believe his eyes even though he knew it was true. _I thought she was gone. I thought she would never find me. How did she find me?_

He walked slowly towards the hooded figure, stopping before it. The figure didn't move, but a quiet voice issued from the hood, tinged with that familiar Breton lilt: "They tell such delightful stories of you, Dragonborn. How long were you planning to keep that from me?"

"You aren't supposed to be here." He sat down beside the stranger; he had no choice but to talk to her, distract her before she caught a whiff of Fredrik's blood. "I killed your little henchmen, Laelette and Alva."

"So it's true, then." The woman smiled, examining her long fingernails. "I was hoping you wouldn't find out."

"Of course I found out. It was foolish of you to think they'd succeed in enslaving Morthal - you knew I would stop that in its tracks. I just wish I had found out in time to save that poor family."

"Killing your own kind? Foiling my plans?" The woman laughed quietly. "What a _pity _you are, Auldan. But then again, Laelette should have known not to double-cross her master and fumble about with some little girl. I'll be sure to tell Movarth of your loyalty."

"I didn't do it for you. I'm not one of yours anymore."

"You've always been mine." She looked up at the darkened sky. "You've just chosen to turn away from me for the time being. But you'll come back. You always come back."

"Not this time."

"Tell me about the Nord."

Auldan's heart quivered in his chest. "If you lay a finger on him, I will slit your throat myself."

The woman laughed. "You wouldn't dare. You still care for me, however much you pretend otherwise. And besides, I don't take threats from my own brother."

"You're not my sister. Not anymore."

"Oh, how noble of you." She touched his face with icy fingers; he jerked back. "Who hurt you?"

"It was an accident."

"I'm sure." Lenora studied him, her eyes glowing eerily in the moonlight. "You've done something terrible to yourself, Auldan. How does it feel, to have a stolen soul?"

"You're one to talk. You sold yours to Volkihar a long time ago, and defiled your flesh in the name of power."

"He gave me more than just power," she said, and smiled, her sharp canines glinting. "He gave me a gift beyond my wildest dreams. What do you have? Some pretty words and a few little spells?"

"I'm stronger than you think," he said. "And you won't convince me to join you."

"I know." She tilted her head, studying him. "You're committed to this path now, and I wouldn't presume to stop you. But however entertaining it might be, I didn't come to talk."

"Then why are you here?" He tried to keep calm, even as his heart set up a rhythm in his chest; he was powerful, but he had no idea how his abilities might stack up against his sister, enshrouded and strengthened in the blood magic of the Volkihar clan. What might she be capable of now?

"I didn't come here to kill you, brother. However convenient that might be for me, it would hurt me too much." She peered at him, orange eyes glittering. "Instead, I came here to warn you."

"About what?"

"You're going to kill Alduin," she said. "Aren't you?"

There was no point in lying to her, not when she already knew the answer. "Yes."

"When you do," she said, "they're going to come for you. I'm telling you because I want to keep you alive, however much we've... disagreed... over the years. When Alduin breathes his last breath, the Volkihar Clan will ask me to seek you out, and I will have no choice but to obey. And the gods know what they will do to you, what tortures they will wreak upon you when I drag you in chains to their door. Not to mention your little Nord friend."

Auldan's heart rattled against his ribcage. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I'd rather not kill my own brother. It's as simple as that." Lenora studied him. "But if you don't take my advice... if you don't run far away, and hide... I'm going to have to."

He stared at her, and in the back of his mind an idea hatched. _That cabin Fredrik wanted to buy in Falkreath, to stay off the grid - maybe that wasn't such a bad idea after all._ "I'll keep that in mind," he said. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just stay out of my way. This will be our last conversation for a very long time." Lenora rose, her cloak swishing around her feet. "I've put myself in too much danger already, by talking to you instead of sinking my teeth into your neck. Tell no one you saw me."

"I won't tell anyone." He was tempted to sell her out, but it would pain his conscience too much to send the Dawnguard after his own sister. "Where are you going now?"

"Back to my family," she said. "We'll see what happens after that."

She walked away, and vanished into the fog. Auldan watched her go, torn and bewildered. He had no idea what to think about this encounter - had she really given him an altruistic warning, to save her brother with whatever was left of her heart? Or was this some kind of complex trap to lure him back to her, back to the life he promised he'd left behind for good?

_I don't know what to think anymore, _he thought, with a mixed sense of terror and foreboding. This was the start of something horrible, he was sure of it. But before he could mull it over, he had to find Fredrik.

He climbed back onto his horse and set off to track Fredrik down. It wasn't long before he spotted the trail of hoofprints headed north, and when he followed them, they led him up a hill and down into a little valley, where Fredrik was sitting by the campfire, waiting for him. "What the fuck was that about?" he asked, as Auldan dismounted his horse and walked over to him. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I didn't want you to get hurt," Auldan said, settling down by the fire. "That was my sister. She could have killed you with a thought."

"Your sister?" Fredrik raised an incredulous eyebrow. "The vampire lord?"

"Yes."

"What did she want?"

"She gave me a warning." Auldan took off his gloves and warmed his hands over the fire, pondering what to say. How much should he tell him? "After we kill Alduin, the Volkihar Clan will come after me. I need to hide."

Fredrik frowned. "What do they want with you?"

"I don't know. I guess it's because I'm a Dragonborn, and I used to be one of them. They want me for my power."

"Hopefully that's all they want." Fredrik's brow knitted as he processed the news. "What are you going to do, then? After Alduin is dead?"

"I haven't really thought ahead that far." Auldan managed a chuckle. "Do you still want to move into that cabin by Falkreath? Because that would be a great way for me to hide. Remote, away from the rest of the hold, easy to defend -"

"I won't let them find you," Fredrik said, decisively. "I'll protect you."

Auldan smiled; it was an oddly sweet gesture. "That's very thoughtful, but I can protect myself."

"'Course you can." The Nord closed his eyes, leaning back against a tree to rest. "I'm just your very angry friend with a very large warhammer."

They sat like that under the stars for a long time, listening to the crickets and the distant roar of a troll in the mountains. Auldan gradually started to close his own eyes, exhausted from the day; but he'd only just begun to doze off when Fredrik suddenly said, "Can I tell you something I've never told anyone before?"

"Is it something horrible?"

"No." Fredrik shifted awkwardly. "I mean - I don't think so, at least. It's not that bad."

"Okay then. Tell me."

"First you have to promise something." Fredrik watched him closely, his blue eyes glimmering under his horned helmet; Auldan wondered how on earth he could wear that thing even when he slept. "You have to promise not to laugh. Or call me names, or say I'm a sissy, or anything like that."

Auldan blinked. "Why would I say anything like that?"

"I know you won't. But promise me anyway."

"I promise." Auldan stared at Fredrik, bewildered by his usually bold friend's hesitation - he felt vaguely unsure whether to be concerned or not. "Now what are you trying to tell me?"

Fredrik was silent for a moment. Then he said, "All my life I've tried to live up to something. This invisible standard of what a Nord should be. Especially a Nordic man. No one ever tells me what I'm supposed to be, but I always know when I'm not living up to it, and I _especially_ know when I'm a disappointment. You know what I mean?"

"Yes," Auldan said. He knew that very well. "Bretons have a similar phenomenon."

"It just feels like I'm never quite what I should be. Like there's this person whose shoes I'm desperately trying to fill, but I'm never quite good enough. That's why I always doubt myself." Fredrik studied him. "My father used to berate me, when I didn't live up to that standard. When I lost a fight, or talked back to him, or didn't do well in the sparring ring, or wasn't smart enough or tough enough or _good_ enough. That's why I've trained so hard my whole life, why I train every day to be stronger and better at fighting and better at everything. So I can keep trying to live up to that invisible Nord I was supposed to be."

Auldan gazed at him, astonished at how much he had in common with this man. "It's like you're saying what's been in my head my entire life."

"Really?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes. It sounds stupid, but - but I feel _exactly_ the same way you do."

Fredrik smiled faintly. "Good. I'm glad I'm not alone."

They watched the stars for a while. It was a silence full of meaning, an unspoken exchange that didn't need to be said aloud. In that moment, a quiet togetherness of friends, it felt as though they were the only two souls in the world.

"I'm gay," Auldan said.

Fredrik looked at him for a long moment.

"I know," he said.

His response was so matter-of-fact that Auldan wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. "You did?"

"Yeah," Fredrik said. "I don't know if you noticed, but it's pretty obvious."

Auldan managed a laugh at that. "You're too observant for your own good, you know that?"

"Well, it never bothered me. It's hardly worth a second look where I come from." Fredrik picked up a stick and poked at the dying fire. "As long as you don't go flirting with some asshole like Orgnar."

"Ha, ha." Auldan sighed. "For the record, I want to reassure you that I'm not attracted to you. In case you were worried."

"Oh, I know." Fredrik gave him a cheeky grin. "Although I _am _very handsome."

"Not to damage your ego, but you're not really my type."

"Alas, I am wounded!" Fredrik clutched at his chest, feigning mortal injury. "You have _damaged _me, sir!"

This time Auldan couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Very funny."

"But seriously." Fredrik tossed his stick onto the fire. "It doesn't matter to me who you give your Amulet of Mara to. Either way, I'll still crash your wedding."

Auldan smiled; as much as he despised the man sometimes, he had to admit that the grumpy Nord was warming his heart. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me and find out." Fredrik settled down into his bedroll, yawning. "Now let's get some sleep. We have to be at Kynesgrove by tomorrow."

Auldan closed his eyes, listening to the Nord start to snore; and the crushing sense of relief that washed over him was impossible to ignore. He'd genuinely been worried about how the Nord would respond. But he shouldn't have worried - of course Fredrik wouldn't mind. He was _Fredrik._ He was a rowdy, bawdy, alcoholic mess of a Nord, and he was Auldan's only friend in the world.

_There are no secrets between us now, _he thought, as he drifted off. _We must have told each other everything by now. Right?_

He hoped he had earned Fredrik's trust by now. He hoped the Nord was finished hiding things from him, and that he'd learned everything there was to know about the warrior in the horned helmet. And yet again, he found himself praying that their companionship, the careful friendship they had built together in blood and turmoil, wasn't a lie - that the newfound glimmers of kindness he saw in Fredrik's eyes weren't ghosts.

He found himself watching the Nord the next morning as they packed up their campsite, looking for those glimmers again. "Remember how I said I'd teach you how to read?"

"Oh, right. I almost forgot." Fredrik raised an amused eyebrow. "Probably not the best time to start, though."

"Well, we don't have to start right now. Maybe I'll start your first lesson when we get to Kynesgrove."

Fredrik grunted noncommittally. "It's not hard, is it?"

"No. It just takes practice."

"Well, maybe I'll try it," he said. "As long as I don't have to read your boring history books."

"They're not so bad," Auldan said, amused, as they mounted their horses. "Why don't I read you a passage or two on the way?"

"Do you _have _to?" Fredrik muttered.

"I'm going to get some culture in you if it kills you." Auldan took a book out of his bag, cracked it open, and cleared his throat importantly. "Chapter One."

He read the histories of Tamriel to Fredrik as they followed the winding road to Kynesgrove, the trees thickening along their path. Fredrik whined and complained the whole time, but once in a while he seemed interested, and he even asked a few questions when Auldan reached the parts about battles and heroes and "exciting" things like elf massacres.

"Read me the part about the snow elves dying again," Fredrik said earnestly, when Auldan paused for breath. "The Battle of the Moesring. Include the details."

"You're sickening."

"What? No one likes elves. Admit it."

Auldan sighed. "You can at least show a little compassion. Hundreds of snow elves died on the battlefield that day."

"Well, good on the Nords who killed them. What's your point?"

"Never mind." Auldan skipped ahead a few paragraphs. "Okay, here's a part about more elves dying. You like those parts."

"Hey," Fredrik said. "Do you hear that?"

Auldan stopped and listened. At first he didn't pick up on anything - but then he detected the sound of faint, distant wingbeats. "Dragon," he said.

"It doesn't sound close." Fredrik reined in his horse, frowning in the direction of the sound. "Should we follow it, and try to kill it?"

"No. We agreed to defend Kynesgrove - that's the more immediate threat. Taking a detour will just waste time."

"Okay," Fredrik said, and turned his horse back on the path.

Auldan stared. "Did you just agree with me without a single word of complaint?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I'm just not used to you actually valuing my input."

"You think you're so clever, do you?" But Fredrik was smiling as he guided his horse along the road. "You'd better watch that tongue of yours, or I'll tear it out."

"Not before I put that warhammer of yours through your skull."

"I'm a Nord, remember? You'll need a chisel and two days."

Auldan grinned. "Okay, that's pretty funny."

"Ha!" Fredrik crowed. "I can do jokes."

"Don't go trying any stand-up when we get back to Whiterun. They'll drive us out with pitchforks."

"Come on, I could do improv." Fredrik grinned. "Why is the Imperial Legion perfect for introverts?"

"Please don't."

"Because they live in _Solitude!"_ he bellowed, and Auldan groaned loudly.

"Oh, gods, no more, I beg you."

"Why can't you buy crayons in the Reach?"

"I want to fucking _die."_

"Because they all use MARKARTH!"

Auldan dragged his hand across his face as they neared Kynesgrove. "I have a strong desire to throw myself off my horse."

"Wait, no, here's the best one -"

"_Have mercy, Fredrik."_

The Nord gleefully ignored him. "How long does a Stormcloak sit on his throne?"

"Please."

Fredrik waited until they had arrived at the village and dismounted their horses to deliver the punch line. "Ulfrickin' day!"

Auldan put his face in his hands, wanting very badly to _fus ro dah _this man off the nearest mountain. "We need to find Delphine and get out of here before you literally end my life."

"What are you talking about?" The Nord shot him a cheeky grin as he headed off down the street. "I think I just found my new career."

* * *

_A/N: Some assorted lore notes for the curious:_

_\- I don't actually know if you give the Amulet of Mara to someone to propose or not, it just sounded cute in my head. If that's not how it works canonically, then I guess that'll just be this story's headcanon._

_\- I've gotten some people asking if this will eventually turn into slash, and I promise this is just a friendship story. This is two bros chillin' in a Skyrim, ten feet apart 'cause only one of them's gay._


	9. IX: Gahrot Tuz, Stolen Blade

Sahloknir of Kynesgrove awoke knowing nothing at all, except that he had been asleep for a very long time. His mind was thick and cobwebby from slumber, and as he struggled to recall the details of how he'd gotten here - lying prone in this burial mound in the middle of the woods, feeble and weak like a baby in a cradle - he was suddenly startled to realize that he couldn't remember anything. Nothing except his name registered in his tired brain, not where the cuts and wounds in his hide had come from or the name of the ancient hero who had given them to him. He could only remember himself: _Sahloknir, Phantom-Sky-Hunter. _That was the one piece of knowledge in his mind he clung to as he fought to understand what he was doing here, or who he was.

He lifted his head, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, as a massive shadow fell over him: a shroud of darkness hovering somewhere above, orange eyes staring down at him with malicious glee. "Welcome back, Sahloknir," a thick voice rumbled, loud as thunder. "I have a task for you."

Dimly Sahloknir began to remember. He suddenly remembered the name of the hero who had sliced holes in his scales - that dratted Nord, Jorg Hembolg, sometime in the First Era. He remembered hurtling to the earth like a bird struck from the sky, he remembered the slow agony of his painful death, and this made him chuff out a slow laugh, realizing that he had returned to a world that did not know his name. But they would soon.

"Alduin," he said, recognizing the voice at last. "It has been too long. _Thuri. Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?"_

The black beast's eyes glowed with delighted malice. "_Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir._ No time for _tinvaak_," he said. "The whelp who calls himself the Dragonborn approaches. You will show him the error of his ways."

"I will flay his bones," Sahloknir promised.

Alduin's delight oozed into his voice. "Good." His great black wings thundered as he rose, ascending into the sky and out of sight.

Sahloknir shook out his wings, then rose slowly, feeling the satisfying glow of the fire in his belly returning after being cold for so long. He puffed out smoke, then turned his head and lashed his tail across the forest floor, ready for the coming of the _Dovahkiin. _This wouldn't even be a challenge.

There was no sound in the woods at first, no smell; but gradually there came the faint, curdling scent of mortal blood on the wind, and the wind began to change. Sahloknir's blood began to sing with the anticipation of battle, and he shifted eagerly, stretching his old talons in preparation to pounce and tear flesh. It was time.

A faint, distant crackle of a twig breaking. Then the soft ghost of movement in the trees. Sahloknir's eyes eagerly tracked his prey, following the dark shadow until it emerged from the forest - and then, with a mighty roar, he lunged and dug his talons deep into the interloper, watching the satisfying gushes of blood as he tore it apart. Then his eyes refocused, and he realized he had killed a deer, not a man.

He looked up, right into the challenging smile of the Dragonborn.

"You're not a smart dragon, are you?" Fredrik taunted.

Sahloknir snarled and dropped his kill, spreading his wings wide. But as he hurtled at the Dragonborn at top speed, the Nord ducked and rolled with surprising nimbleness, and he nearly crashed into the trees; hissing, he backpedaled and scanned the trees furiously for his target. Where had that damn mortal gone?

"Come out and play, _Dovahkiin._" he snarled.

In response, an arrow hissed out from the bushes; it deflected harmlessly against his thick scales, and he growled, eyes flicking about in search of the source; the Nord hadn't been carrying a bow, had he? He opened his maw and blasted the trees with ice, and heard a frantic yelp as someone dove out of the way, tumbling straight into the path of the raging dragon. Perfect.

He charged with his jaws open wide, and the tiny figure looked up, opening its mouth to scream words in his own tongue: _"Wuld nah kest!"_

In a blink, his prey had vanished, and Sahloknir gnashed his teeth in frustration, realizing that he might have been mistaken in focusing on the Nord. Which one of these pathetic whelps was the true Dragonborn? These tiny humans were outsmarting him, but they wouldn't have the upper hand for long - now his mind was awakening, and his strength was returning after so many years in hibernation. He spread his cavernous wings, gave a furious bellow to the heavens, and doused everything around him with frost, freezing the plants and trees like icicles - he heard the snapping of the leaves as they turned to icy statues before his eyes.

"My Voice is stronger than yours, little mortals!" he roared, surveying the trees in growing rage. "Come out and face me!"

And then he heard the running footsteps, coming from behind him - he whirled, tail lashing, just in time for the Nord to charge right at his face, raising a massive battleaxe high. "For Skyrim!" Fredrik bellowed, but the dragon was faster - and as the big man tried to bring the axe down on his snout, the dragon opened his jaws and blasted him backwards with frost, sending him flying to slam against the trees and fall motionless.

He rushed forward at once, eager to land the killing blow, but to his amazement, the Nord lifted his head, blue eyes burning, and opened his mouth, bellowing words in the dragon language that no mortal should have ever known:

"_FUS RO!"_

A force hit him like a cannonblast, and Sahloknir stumbled back in surprise and pain, just in time to feel a sword cut into his side - he screeched and whirled to find the attacker, only to see a blonde-haired woman in leather armor darting away, having scored the first blood.

"Enough of this!" he hissed, consumed with rage; he wanted nothing more than to eat these little fools alive. How did _both _of them have the Voice? How did they have such power? He turned back to the wounded Nord, only to see a man in wizard robes dragging him away, trying to get him to safety. He bellowed his delight and opened his maw, bearing down on them with breakneck speed - the wizard looked up, and his eyes went wide as he thrust out a hand to cast a desperate spell.

A huge, misshapen frost atronach burst up between them, sprouting from the ground in a rush of snowflakes. It planted itself directly between the two humans and the dragon, and as Sahloknir skidded to a stop to roar at it and crush it in his jaws, Auldan scrambled to safety, dragging the Nord alongside him. It had taken all he had to distract the dragon long enough to get Fredrik away from its raging jaws. Now it was up to him and Delphine to finish this creature off.

"M'fine," Fredrik grunted, as Auldan laid him gently down in the grass to rest. "Lemme at him again. I'm ready."

"No, you're hurt. You stay here." Auldan patted his shoulder, then carefully pulled one of Fredrik's swords from the scabbard. "Can I borrow this?"

Fredrik sighed. "If you promise not to break it."

"Will do." Auldan rushed off to rejoin the fight, and found Delphine squaring off against the dragon; it whipped its tail along the ground as she taunted it and danced like a matador, trying to buy time for Auldan to reappear. When she saw Auldan approaching, she nodded grimly at him.

"Time to finish this," she said.

Auldan took a steadying breath. "I have an idea," he said. "But it might get us killed."

To her credit, Delphine looked utterly unfazed by this statement. "I've looked death in the eye," she said. "I'm not afraid of him anymore. What's your plan?"

Auldan opened his mouth to reply, but Sahloknir cut them off by thundering forward like a battering ram, bellowing; Delphine darted out of his path and drew her bow to take shots at the creature from afar, but Auldan stood his ground, lifting his hands and glowing with magic. He only had enough energy left for one more real spell, and he knew exactly what it would be. But he would only have one shot. One chance.

_Well, _he thought grimly, _I've had worse odds._

He spoke the words of the spell, and felt power coursing through him, steeling his body like iron and filling him with a reckless strength; and then he charged forward, raising Fredrik's sword high. He was running straight at the dragon, charging headlong into the fray Nord-style, and he had exactly one moment to realize the complete stupidity of what he was doing, the utter lunacy of his idea. It was so incredibly idiotic, he thought with a fierce grin, that it was _precisely _something Fredrik would do. _The Nords__ would be proud of me._

As the dragon thundered forward in a rage of scales and eyes and claws, moving in a dreamlike slow motion in the wizard's eyes, it opened its icy maw to blast him, and Auldan shouted his new favorite words: "_Wuld nah kest!"_

In a flash he had vanished and whirled forward like a tornado, rematerializing right under the dragon's belly - and in the instant it took Sahloknir to realize this, Auldan had already dropped to his knees so that his body skidded along the ground, and as he slid under the great heaving scales he thrust his sword up into the dragon's belly, piercing it cleanly and deep, like a needle into Redguard silk.

Sahloknir screamed, a terrible sound that rattled Auldan's bones, as his steaming heart's blood poured from the wound and doused Auldan head to toe like a fire hose; and at the exact moment that Auldan realized he had stopped sliding and his momentum was not going to carry him far enough, the dragon's legs failed and the great mass of scaly flesh above him started to fall down on top of him.

But then the preternatural speed from his spell kicked in, and he rolled out of the way - and a second later Sahloknir's body crashed down to the forest floor, and the dragon heaved one last, furious breath, its great body shuddering and going still. Auldan stood there, still a bit shell-shocked that his idea had actually worked; he started to laugh in surprise and amazement at his own ridiculous courage, wondering what the Nord would think of him now.

"I did it!" he shouted at the heavens. "I did it!"

He turned, expecting to see Delphine there, celebrating with him - and then he heard a soft laugh, and his blood ran cold.

Because Sahloknir was rising again, shaking out his wings. "Pathetic," the dragon taunted. "You think you can kill me with such _heroics?"_

"Oh, hell," Auldan muttered. He watched in horror as the dragon steadied itself, shaking its head as though to remove irritating flies; Fredrik's sword was still buried up to the hilt in its chest. How on earth was it still alive? Had Alduin imbued it with some kind of fell magic, to keep it alive even on the brink of death?

He took a deep breath and readied his magic, praying that Delphine was by his side - as if on cue, an arrow whistled from the trees and struck the dragon in the side of the head, and it bellowed in frustration, clawing the ground as it opened its mouth. Auldan dove aside just in time for it to douse the area in ice, freezing the ground into permafrost; and then, to his horror, his feet slipped on the icy ground, and he fell hard on his back, seeing stars dance in front of his eyes.

He blinked a few times at the sky, struggling to gain the energy to rise - and then felt the dragon looming over him, peering down at him like he was an interesting insect. "You fought well, _Dovahkiin," _Sahloknir rumbled. "But this is where you end."

Auldan managed a weak laugh. "You've made a mistake," he said.

"Oh?" The dragon's eye regarded him wryly, glittering in amusement. "Do tell. It will give you some comfort before my teeth close on your throat."

"I'm not the only Dragonborn," Auldan said.

The dragon's eyes went wide, and it had exactly one second to process this before Fredrik came pounding into view, roaring like a _dovah,_ and threw his whole body at the dragon like a Nordic kamikaze, burying his fingers into its scales. It roared and shook its head violently, thrashing him around as he stabbed it over and over with his remaining sword, drawing thick gouts of dragon blood. Auldan winced as he was drenched in the hot, steaming liquid, shielding his eyes from the waterfall of gore as Fredrik tore the dragon's neck into bloody shreds. And this time, Sahloknir could not recover. With a howl of despair, the dragon stumbled back, then slumped down to the ground, its tail and claws twitching one last time as Fredrik clambered down from the still-warm corpse, pulled out the sword that Auldan had stolen, and thrust both of his bloody swords into the air in triumph.

"I name these blades Death and Despair!" he proclaimed, and then knelt down and sawed off one of Sahloknir's claws for his collection. Auldan sighed fondly. The Nord would never change.

"Thanks for saving me," he said, as Fredrik sheathed his swords and came stomping over to him with his new prize, beaming with pride. "I just hope Kynesgrove has a good place to wash off all this dragon blood."

"What? I think it adds to my manly charm." Fredrik stuck out a meaty, still-bloody hand, grinning. "Need a lift?"

Auldan wearily grasped his hand, letting the Nord pull him to his feet. "You all right?"

"'Course I am. Nothing I can't handle." Fredrik let go of Auldan to brush strands of gooey dragon flesh off his armor. "After all, we're drenched in the blood of _champions!"_

"And hepatitis," Auldan muttered, as Delphine approached them, her mouth agape, awestruck.

"You killed it," she said, wonderingly. "It's dead."

"Yes," Fredrik said, puffing out his chest importantly. "We did. Have we proven ourselves now?"

"Not just yet." Delphine closed her mouth and folded her arms, obviously trying to keep her tough, emotionless reputation intact. "First I need to see you absorb its soul."

"Fair enough." The Nord stomped over to the dragon's corpse, and stood watching as it began to peel apart, crumbling slowly into ash. Auldan watched as its soul surged into Fredrik, and the big man stumbled back, wheezing in surprise. "Oof. That dragon was _nasty._ I already feel gross just listening to it."

Delphine's eyes widened. "So it's true."

"Yes," Auldan said, wincing as he peeled pieces of Sahloknir off his wizard robes. "It's true."

"Amazing," she murmured, and shook her head in wonder, clearly processing the news. "This changes everything."

"Can you explain yourself now?" Fredrik said loudly. "About the horn, and everything else?"

"Yes, all right. You two deserve answers, and a tall glass of mead. Let's go back to Kynesgrove and clean you two up, and then I'll explain everything." Delphine set off at a brisk pace, and Auldan followed, with a meaningful look at Fredrik. The Nord wavered, then tagged along behind, grumbling.

They headed back to Kynesgrove, the grass crunching under their boots; all the while, Auldan watched Delphine, wondering what this strange woman knew. Fredrik brought up the rear, still bragging about his kill. "Did you _see _the way I stabbed it at the end? I nearly took its whole neck apart! I should get a medal for that."

"Yes, it was very impressive," Auldan said tiredly. "You were quite magnificent."

"I know." Fredrik flexed his muscles, grinning. "And here come our fans."

Sure enough, a small, excited gaggle of villagers was running to meet them, cheering and talking excitedly. Among them were a few doe-eyed women, who nearly fell over themselves to approach Fredrik, giggling and asking eager questions. "Did you really kill it all by yourself, Dragonborn?" one of them breathed, as the others whispered and egged her on. "Did you stab it to death?"

"Why yes I did," Fredrik purred, basking in their attentions; he showed off his arm muscles, and the women oohed and asked to touch his biceps, with Auldan looking on in weary annoyance. "Do you want to see my gear? It's still got dragon blood on it."

"I'd _love _to," one of them said, as another squeaked, "Can you sign me an autograph?"

"That sounds lovely," Fredrik was preening now, clearly bathing in the glow of his new attentions. "What are all your names? I'm sure they're just as lovely as you are."

Auldan sighed. "I need an ale," he said to Delphine, and trudged off to the tavern by himself as Fredrik doted on his new fans, resolving to rejoin the Nord when he was less _occupied._

He headed into the closest pub he could find, the Braidwood Inn, and flopped down in a chair. The innkeeper, a tired-looking Nord woman with dark hair, approached and asked for his order. "Dark ale," he said, and she returned with a glass, which he downed with a savage intensity and asked for another.

_Why am I so angry? _he wondered, as he took a long draught of his second ale. _Fredrik is getting attention, and I get to be left alone. That's what we both want, isn't it? So why am I so unhappy?_

He knew the truth, but he hated to admit it to himself. Seeing Fredrik getting attention from women reminded him that he was painfully, deeply alone, with no one to love but his books, and he hated being alone. It was, without a doubt, the worst feeling in the world. Hence the ale.

It was his own fault, too, he mused as he drank. He'd let himself be this lonely, never letting himself admit his feelings to the one person whom he'd loved with all his heart, back in his College days. His loneliness was all his own doing. And yet it _hurt, _so much more than a dragon's fangs and breath ever could.

But that was enough ruminating. He took another slow drink, his eyes wandering around the tavern, and thought about Delphine. Surely that woman was hiding something, but what could it be? How did she know about the Dragonborn, and the return of the dragons? Perhaps she was much more than just a mere innkeeper.

_What is she not telling us? _he mused, letting his eyes wander around the tavern. There was a woman sitting by herself, knitting, and a man playing with his empty mug. No one jumped out to him. _I feel like there's something I'm missing about her. _He wouldn't get to find out, of course, until Fredrik started using his brain again. Why did that Nord always get distracted at the worst possible moments, by the worst possible things?

He closed his eyes, and his thoughts turned away from the Nord, mulling now over the death of the dragon. Something had animated it with an unholy strength, giving it the power to resist deadly wounds. Not unlike the spell he'd used on himself, to harden his skin like iron and deflect injuries while he pulled off his death-defying stunt. Was Alduin really that powerful? If so, he was afraid of what would happen when they finally faced off against the World-Eater - perhaps that would end up being the fight they wouldn't walk away from. The final battle. The end of -

Just then he was aware of someone approaching him. "Is this seat taken?" a friendly voice asked.

He looked up in surprise. An Imperial man in orange robes stood before him, smiling brightly. "No," Auldan said, cautiously. "I wouldn't mind some company."

"Excellent. I've been getting tired of just reading in the corner." And the man plopped himself down in the seat across from Auldan, studying the Breton's face with keen interest. "You're one of the dragon slaying duo, aren't you? The evidence would suggest you're Auldan."

"Yes, that's me. Fredrik is a bit more..." Auldan waved his hands suggestively, and the man laughed.

"Point taken," he said, and stuck out his hand. "Marcurio, at your service. I'm something of a traveling mage. Always nice to meet a colleague."

"Nice to meet you," Auldan said, shaking it. "You already know me, I suppose."

"Naturally." Marcurio laughed. "I will admit I have an ulterior motive in coming over here. I need some help with a book."

"Gladly." Auldan smiled; he was always happy to meet a fellow bookworm. "Let's hear it."

"Have you read _A Dance In Fire? _My mentor told me I should read it before our next training session, but it's so dreadfully boring." Marcurio took out the book, sighing. "I would be incredibly grateful for a brief summary. At least then I can bluff my way through the report."

"Of course." Auldan racked his brains. "Let's see... the book essentially follows the exploits of Decumus Scotti, during the war between Valenwood and Elsweyr. It starts at the clerk's office..."

He regaled Marcurio with an abridged version of the story, then, on a whim, ordered another ale as the sky darkened outside. Marcurio took dutiful notes as Auldan summarized the last few books, asking occasional questions and following the plot religiously; when Auldan had finished, he sat back and proudly set down his quill. "There," he said. "I've got most of what I need. Thanks for your help."

"Anytime," Auldan said, taking a sip and trying to ignore that his head had started spinning. "Now it's your turn to talk."

"Oh, very well." Marcurio's eyes twinkled with merriment as he regarded Auldan. "Ask me anything. I'm an open book."

"Answer this, then. What are you doing in Kynesgrove?"

"That's a long story." Marcurio chuckled. "It begins with a troll and ends with an uncomfortable night in a dragon cave. But suffice it to say that I didn't make my way here on purpose. Anything else?"

"Hmm..." Auldan pretended to deeply consider his next question, swirling his ale in the glass. "How long did you study at the College?"

"Not too long. Maybe a year or so." Marcurio shrugged. "It wasn't the right place for me, and I clashed with most of the teachers. I didn't agree with their methods, and they didn't agree with my liking for destruction spells. We didn't part ways very amiably, but I learned a lot."

"Fair enough." Auldan smiled. "I liked the College well enough, but I wanted to travel and see the world, and there were... other things drawing me away. I didn't stay very long, either."

"You are an intriguing man." Marcurio studied him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I like that."

Just then Auldan noticed that the crickets had started chirping, and fireflies glowed out the window; he realized with a start how long he'd been here, and that he'd had a few more ales than was probably wise. "Oh, gods," he said sheepishly, hoping the wizard didn't think he was a hapless drunk. "I'm going to get tipsy if I keep this up, and Fredrik is probably worried sick about me. I should go find him."

"Oh, of course. I wasn't even thinking. Sorry for keeping you." Marcurio rose at once, putting his things away and dusting off his robes. "Do you want me to walk with you, wherever you're going? I don't want you to pass out on the way."

"I'm not that drunk," Auldan said, then swayed a little and reconsidered. "Okay, that might be a good idea."

Marcurio laughed and draped an arm around him, walking him out of the tavern; Auldan suddenly noticed, in his slightly drunken and loopy state, that the wizard smelled nice. _Oh, shut up, _he scolded himself, annoyed that he could be charmed so easily. _You're in no state to be flirting. _This was a new friend, nothing more. A new friend who just so happened to be very attractive and well-spoken and share his interest in books. No big deal.

Of course, it was very difficult to ignore when Marcurio shot Auldan a deeply flirtatious look, and the hand that was draped around Auldan's shoulder began to play with his hair. "Where am I taking you tonight, O Dragon Slayer of Kynesgrove?"

_Oh, fuck, _Auldan thought; he suddenly seemed to have lost the power of speech, and his heart set up little frantic flip-flops in his chest. _Fuck, this is not happening. _But as he started to offer some kind of weak reply, he heard Fredrik's annoyed voice say,

"There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."

The Nord stomped up to him in his dented, blood-soaked armor, looking his usual, distinctly irritated self; and Auldan sighed, unsure whether he was dismayed or relieved to see him. "I was just going out for a drink," he said. "You didn't have to worry about me."

"I always worry about you." Fredrik raised a suspicious eyebrow at Marcurio. "Who are you?"

"Sorry," the wizard said sheepishly, quickly removing his arm from Auldan's shoulders; Auldan couldn't help feeling a flicker of disappointment. "I was planning on walking him home."

"Mm-hm," Fredrik said, clearly reading the situation correctly. He shot Auldan a deeply amused look. "Well, come on, then, _Dragonborn_. Delphine is worried sick about you."

"It was nice to meet you," Auldan said feebly, in Marcurio's direction. To his astonishment, the wizard grinned, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"If you ever want me to walk you home again," he said, "you know where to find me."

Auldan couldn't help blushing at the obvious offer, and Fredrik heaved a deep, incredibly amused sigh. "If you two are done _courting," _he said, "we have work to do."

He frog-marched Auldan away, grumbling, and Auldan tried not to smile. "You're acting like my father," he said. "He was just being nice."

"Being nice. Sure." Fredrik sighed. "You wouldn't know a _come hither _if it smacked you in the face."

Auldan shook his head wearily, trying to recover his ability to form coherent sentences; he felt like he was getting drunker by the minute. "How, uh - how's Delphine?"

"She's fine. I got a little banged up, too, but I'll survive." Fredrik shrugged. "Just some bruises."

"If you're sure." Auldan blinked to dispel fog from his eyes. "I had _way _too much ale."

"Don't worry, I'll get you somewhere safe. Delphine gave us a friend's place to stay for the night." Fredrik ruffled his hair, a friendly gesture. "And hopefully that thieving Breton finally gives us those answers. I'm getting sick of people hiding things from us."

"Me too," Auldan said, resigning himself to letting the Nord guide him. "What do you think Delphine is going to tell us?"

"Anything I want," Fredrik said, and smacked his fist into his palm menacingly. "Or she gets the same treatment as that goddamn dragon."

"Easy," Auldan said, amused by the Nord's ever-present taste for violence. "We shouldn't hurt her. If nothing else, she looks perfectly capable of hurting us back."

Fredrik hesitated, then relented, grumbling. "True."

They walked for a while through Kynesgrove, and Auldan quietly drank in the night air, enjoying a moment of silence after their battle with Sahloknir. He looked up at the stars, and just for a moment, he swore he saw that great black dragon gliding soundlessly overhead - watching them. He blinked, and it was gone.

_I keep seeing the World-Eater, _he thought, unnerved as he returned his gaze to Fredrik. _In my dreams, in my nightmares. What does it mean?_

"Those women you were flirting with back there," he said, in an effort to distract himself and change the subject. Fredrik looked at him in surprise. "Did you do anything with them?"

"No," Fredrik said, clearly offended by the suggestion. "I just signed them some autographs and let them touch my muscles. What do you take me for?"

"It's just -"

"I already told you. I like women who don't fall all over me," Fredrik smirked. "I like them to _fight _for it."

"You're hilarious," Auldan muttered.

"Hey, you're the one who decided to be friends with me." Fredrik shrugged. "But rest assured. I don't go around sleeping with random barmaids who only like me because I'm a dragon slayer. I've told you before - I want a real relationship, with a woman who loves me for who I am, not for what I've done."

"That's fair," Auldan said, surprised by yet another display of the Nord's hidden emotional intelligence - despite all their bonding and confiding in each other, he was still prone to forgetting the roaring barbarian was someone who thought deeply about relationships and love. "I'm glad you're not a shallow, opportunistic womanizer, at least."

He expected Fredrik to crack a joke about this, but the Nord looked at him, suddenly serious. "I'm glad we're friends," he said. "We're good for each other. We're a team. You're always there for me, even when no one else is."

Auldan trailed off, amazed. "Oh," was all he could manage to say. He didn't even know Fredrik thought about him that way - as a close friend, someone he could always count on. Granted, they'd been through a lot together, but...

"There's a thing with Nords," Fredrik said. "It's called a blood-brother. It's somebody who, even if they aren't related to you by blood, is a brother to you in every other way."

In his now thoroughly inebriated state, it took Auldan a moment to process what the Nord had just said. It dawned on him as he looked at Fredrik's twinkling blue eyes, and felt a strange, sudden urge to burst into tears.

Fredrik patted his back gently. "Let's get you back to Delphine before you throw up all over me."

He walked Auldan all the way back to the house, and at some point during the walk Auldan suddenly thought about his sister, Lenora, and his brother, Cain, and his broken family and his broken home. He always used to wonder when he would see them again - but now he knew deep down that if he didn't, he would always have Fredrik by his side. The Nord, in his own strange, violent, bloody way, was the only family Auldan had left. And he would kill a hundred dragons to keep him safe.

_I just hope I won't have to, _he thought wearily. They had been through a lot in the past few weeks, and all he wanted was a nice rest and a cup of tea. And, of course, some cold water for the hangover he suspected he'd have in the morning. _Let's hope things will calm down for a while._

That wasn't too much to ask, right?

He found out the answer when they opened the door of the house, and found a bloody corpse strewn along the floor, blood and brains splashed along the walls in a horrific painting of violence. For one horrible moment Auldan thought it might be Delphine, until Fredrik knelt down and shook his head bitterly. "Not Delphine," he said. "The friend she wanted us to stay with."

"Oh, God," Auldan said weakly.

Fredrik pointed. "Look."

Auldan followed his gaze to the dining table nearby, spattered with blood and guts. There was a dagger stabbed into the tabletop, pinning a note to the top. He pulled out the knife, picked up the note, and swallowed hard. "Fredrik?"

Fredrik looked at him steadily. He already knew. "Read it," he said. "It's from my old brothers."

Auldan read it aloud, faintly, his heart hammering in his chest:

"_You thought you could leave us. You were wrong."_

He took a slow breath.

_"We're coming for you."_


	10. X: Qah Ahrk Zahkrii, Scales and Swords

When Delphine arrived at their room in the Braidwood Inn the next morning, she got straight to the point. "That was impressive, what you did yesterday. You really are Dragonborn. I owe you some answers, don't I?"

"Yes," Auldan said. "That would be an understatement." He looked at Fredrik, who was sitting in a chair with his face in his hands; ever since they'd found the Dark Brotherhood note, he had been sitting there in the corner of the room, motionless. "You'll have to explain to me, since Fredrik is... indisposed."

"All right then." Delphine nodded. "Go ahead. Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back."

"Who are you?" Auldan said promptly. "And what do you want with me?"

"I'm one of the last members of the Blades."

Auldan frowned. "You can't be serious."

"You've heard of them?"

"Of course. I read, don't I? But how...?"

"We were wiped out," Delphine said, matter-of-factly. "The Thalmor hunted us down like dogs in the street, and killed us in droves, all while the law smiled and looked the other way. And now, thanks to the White-Gold Concordat, they've been able to operate throughout the Empire with impunity, and I don't doubt that they're still trying to find us." She spat on the floor. "Hounds and two-faced backstabbers, all of them. If I know anything, they're already after both of you."

"So you're the last of the Blades," Auldan murmured, processing the news. "What does that mean for us?"

"I wasn't sure at first. The Blades have always guarded and guided the Dragonborn. But we'd forgotten why." Delphine folded her arms, her eyes burning. "Now, though - now our purpose is clear. I'm all that's left of the Blades, and you're the last Dragonborn. Together we're going to stop these dragons, if we have to put every last one of them back in the ground."

Auldan nodded, liking her fire - not to mention her prowess. If she had managed to get all the way through Ustengrav and back without breaking a sweat, not to mention hold her own and defend herself against Sahloknir while Fredrik finished it off, she would be a valuable addition to their team. "We'll do it together."

"Excellent. Then you'll help me search for the cause of this dragon crisis." Delphine's eyes glittered as she studied him, sizing him up. "Whoever that black dragon is, and whatever he wants, he's bringing all of the slain dragons back from the dead -"

"It's Alduin, the World-Eater," Auldan cut in hastily. "The Greybeards already told me."

Delphine frowned. "That's a bit of a stretch. Are you sure you can trust them?"

"No," Auldan admitted. "But I know about the World-Eater from Fredrik's legends, and now, with everything we've seen... I believe them. There's no one else who could be doing this. No other dragon in history has this kind of power."

"If you're sure," Delphine muttered. "Either way, I know the Thalmor must have information about all of this. They must know something we don't."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're a smart guy. Think about it. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on... and now the dragons are attacking everywhere. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?"

Auldan had to admit she made a compelling argument. "It's not far-fetched," he allowed. "But I doubt the Thalmor have any control over Alduin. It has to be him, acting on his own."

"Fair enough. But even if they didn't act to bring back Alduin, they most certainly know more about it. And that's why I need you now. I need you to help me figure out what they know. A reconaissance mission, you could say." Delphine studied him. "You think you're up for a bit of diplomacy, after all this killing you've been doing?"

"That would be a nice change of pace," Auldan said wearily; much as he loved Fredrik's strategy of rushing in and murdering everything, it was time to shake things up a bit. "What's the plan?"

"We're not doing any fucking recon." This from Fredrik, who had just lifted his head, blue eyes stony. "We're killing Alduin. That's what we're supposed to be doing, right?"

"Yes," Auldan said, "but we need allies and resources first, and we need to know what we're up against. We don't know anything about how to kill Alduin, we don't have a single Shout that can scratch his hide -"

"We've slain enough dragons, haven't we?" Fredrik said, gesturing to his dragon-claw necklace; it now held both the menacing talons of the Whiterun dragon and the curled claws of Sahloknir. "Two of them. We know how to do it now. Alduin won't stand a chance against us."

"Don't be daft," Delphine snapped. "You can't just rush at Alduin with an axe, if that's really who we're dealing with. He'll be more powerful than any foe you've ever faced."

"I killed Sahloknir," Fredrik snarled. "I stabbed him to death and tore him to pieces with my bare hands. What did you do? Hide behind some trees and make potpourri?"

"Big talk for an overgrown axe-wielding toddler with anger issues," Delphine shot back.

Fredrik rose slowly, blue eyes burning. "I don't _like _you."

"Easy!" Auldan said hastily, realizing he had to defuse the situation before anything got violent; he had learned enough about Fredrik's aggressive tendencies to know when to shut the Nord down. "We're all trying to accomplish the same thing - stopping the dragon crisis. Let's think through our plan first. This Thalmor mission will help us gather information about the dragons, and maybe they'll know some things we don't. Important things."

"Like what?" Fredrik demanded. "How to serve them tea and wipe their asses?"

"Like how to save Skyrim from the dragons _and _the Thalmor who are taking advantage of their return," Delphine said pointedly. "Or are you not interested in killing elves?"

Fredrik's eyes lit up at once - the Breton woman had just found the magic words, Auldan thought with some amusement. "I get to kill elves?"

"Yes, lots of them," Auldan egged him on. "Tons of high, snooty, stuck-up elves who think Nords are violent and stupid."

"I'll show them violent!" Fredrik roared gleefully, rushing to get his weapons. Auldan sighed and looked meaningfully at Delphine.

"Problem solved," he said. "Now tell me the plan."

"Gladly." Delphine rolled her eyes. "I have an idea for getting you into the Thalmor Embassy, but it'll require some forethought, moving of goods, and communication with my allies. I'll need time to put everything together. When you've finished your business, return to Riverwood and I'll give you the lowdown. Sound good?"

"Fine with me," Auldan said. "That gives us time to return the horn to the Greybeards, and take care of some other business."

Delphine sighed. "Those damn Greybeards. I would keep an eye on them, if I were you. Don't let them talk you into anything, understand? Ask as many questions as you can."

"Why don't you like them?" Auldan asked.

"We have... history," Delphine said, vaguely. "Now then. I'm going to ride back to Riverwood, and I'll be waiting for you at the inn. I have a planning room there - a place where we can talk without fear of being overheard."

"Just one more question," Auldan said, as Delphine turned to leave. "What do you know about the Dark Brotherhood?"

Delphine frowned. "They're dangerous, and they've come back after a long period of decline. Some people say they had a new assassin helping them, the one who killed Grelod the Kind and Alain Dufont."

"What was his name?"

"No one knows. But the assassins called him Blue Eyes. Hasn't been seen in a long time. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Auldan said, even as his insides curdled. _That was Fredrik. And they're coming back for him._

He waited until Delphine left before turning back to Fredrik, who had slumped back into the chair, back to his morose self. "I have to prepare," he muttered. "They'll send people after me. Good people."

"You'll kill whoever they send. You know that."

"No. I'm done talking about it." Fredrik dragged a hand across his face. "Let's get going. If we start now, we can make it to Riverwood in a day or two."

"Don't worry," Auldan said, as they rose to fetch their horses. "I won't let anyone kill my blood-brother."

He meant it in a light-hearted way, but Fredrik's lip quivered as they headed out of the inn, and Auldan felt a growing amazement as he realized he had touched a nerve.

"Are you_ crying_?"

"No. Shut up." Fredrik swiped furiously at his eyes. "Let's find those damn horses before the Brotherhood finds us."

"I can't believe it," Auldan said, unable to resist a little teasing. "The scary old Nord has feelings."

"Fuck off." Fredrik sighed. "Remind me again - who was the one melting all over that damn wizard yesterday?"

"I was drunk, okay? People make stupid decisions when they're drunk!" Auldan could hear how defensive he sounded, but he refused to admit that Fredrik had struck a nerve of his own. "He was _nice_, okay? I just liked talking to him, that's all."

"Oh, cut the shit. If I hadn't shown up you might have slept with him." Fredrik mounted his horse and waited patiently for Auldan to scramble into his own saddle. "Who's the reckless one now?"

"Cheeky fucker," Auldan grumbled, and Fredrik gasped dramatically.

"Heavens above! Did Auldan Metonius just _swear? _What a scandal!"

"What are you talking about? I swear all the time."

"Oh, do you? You've never once cursed me out, and I've actually punched you in the face."

"Keep talking and I'll return the favor," Auldan fired back, making Fredrik laugh uproariously.

"Was that a threat? You come from High Rock and you have muscles like my grandmother's snowberry porridge. You couldn't even scratch me."

"Try me and find out."

They resumed their merry bickering as their horses cantered along the road to Riverwood, heading southwest. The trees flickered by in a soft canvas of yellow and green and orange; it was a lovely sight, and Auldan took a break from heckling Fredrik to admire it for a while, basking in the peaceful silence. He had forgotten how much he missed sunlight, and a moment of quiet amidst the chaos of their lives.

"Hey," Fredrik said suddenly. "Are we going to Riverwood, or are we bringing the horn back?"

"Oh. I almost forgot." Auldan frowned. "I guess Riverwood is closer, and I'm really not excited to climb a mountain again. Let's wait on the horn."

"Good. I don't like those Greybeards anyway." Fredrik watched an eagle glide by overhead, golden feathers shining in the sunlight. "Look at that. The best hunters in Skyrim, don't you agree?"

"They're beautiful," Auldan said; he'd always thought there was a noble serenity about birds, a kind of regal detachment from the world. He envied them, in a way. "But a lot of people shoot them down for potion ingredients."

"Stupid fuckers." Fredrik adjusted his grip on the reins. "I found a baby eaglet when I was younger. Tried to raise it, but my mother made me release it when it got old enough to fly."

"Yeah?" Auldan smiled; the Nord rarely talked about his childhood. "Was it cute?"

"Sure, it was cute. I named it George. Found it under a tree in Whiterun." Fredrik chuckled fondly at the memory. "When it was big enough to fly, I took it to the same spot I found it and let it go. I like to think it's still out there somewhere, wondering what happened to its big dumb Nord."

"Don't some Nords raise eagles for hunting?"

"Yeah, that was what I was hoping for. But Mum said I wasn't old enough." Fredrik rolled his eyes. "I was _plenty _old."

Auldan grinned. "Your mother sounds a little overprotective."

"Oh, don't even get me started. _Don't go play swords-and-elves with the other boys, they might hurt you, you're too delicate. _No wonder I didn't make any friends." Fredrik smirked and flexed his muscles. "Nowadays, of course, I'm hardly delicate."

"What happened to your mother?" Auldan ventured; Fredrik had never talked about this. "How did she die?"

Fredrik shrugged and pointedly avoided his eyes. "Not in a great way. Let's leave it at that."

They rode in silence for a while, twigs crackling softly under the horses' hooves; the sunlight dappled the trail underfoot in spots and stripes of color, like a green and brown tapestry. Auldan was just admiring the way the leaves glowed in the morning light when Fredrik barked, "Halt!"

Auldan looked up in surprise. A roughly-clothed courier had frozen on the trail in front of them, hands raised in surrender. "I'm just delivering some letters," he said. "Don't mean any harm."

"Fair enough," Fredrik said, warily. "You have any for us?"

"I have one for each of you, actually." The courier dug in his pockets, emerging with two letters. "One for Auldan Metonius of High Rock, and one for Fredrik... er... Hammerskull?"

"That's me." Fredrik snatched the letter and tore it open, as Auldan took his own and delicately slit it open with a fingernail. He opened it, and his heart jumped into his mouth.

_Auldan,_

_Been a while, hasn't it? You probably weren't expecting to hear from me. I'll admit, it's been far too long since we talked._

_How are you? I hear you're the Dragonborn now. Who would have thought my baby brother was some Nordic legend all along? Crazy stuff._

_I'll be in Skyrim for a few months on a contract, so we should grab an ale sometime. Do you know the Dead Man's Drink in Falkreath? I hear they've got a great brew down there. Write me back if you want to meet up._

_Best,_

_Cain._

"This one's from my brother," Auldan said, closing the letter and tucking it into his pocket. "He hasn't spoken to me in a long time. I wonder what he wants."

The courier, meanwhile, was looking between them in hesitant awe. "You two are the Dragonborn, aren't you? You just killed a dragon in Kynesgrove."

"Yes, that's us," Fredrik said, glancing up from his letter and puffing out his chest for emphasis. "Are you impressed?"

The man laughed. "I've just never met a celebrity before. You have a good day now."

Auldan watched the messenger leave, smiling tiredly. "You'll never get sick of flexing at random strangers, will you, Fredrik?"

"Shut up." Fredrik closed his letter and stuffed it into his pocket. "Let's keep moving."

"Who was your letter from?"

"Nobody," Fredrik said, and snapped the reins of his horse; Auldan followed, curious despite himself.

"Was it from Carlotta? Or the Brotherhood?"

"If you keep pestering me about this letter, I'm going to slit your throat with it." Fredrik shot him a deeply amused look. "I thought we were okay with keeping secrets from each other?"

"I mean, sure, but I've literally told you all of mine. Can you at least reassure me it's not from your secret family in High Rock or something?"

Fredrik sighed heavily. "Fine. You want to know who it's from? It's from an old friend in the Thieves' Guild. Apparently he's been keeping an eye on me."

"Oh," Auldan said, surprised. "Are you going to see him?"

"No. I told you I was finished with that life, and I am." Fredrik's face was set; clearly he had already made his decision. "I've chosen a better life now, and I'm not going back just because somebody has a good heist for me."

"Good for you," Auldan said. "I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, yeah." But Fredrik smiled as he watched the sun flicker through the trees. "Now it's your turn. I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"Okay, go ahead."

"You want kids, right?"

"Yes, that's the dream. I love children." Auldan had told him this before. "I always have."

"Well, you don't need to be married to adopt 'em," Fredrik said simply. "Just saying."

Auldan looked at him, and was suddenly startled he'd never thought of this before.

_Could I adopt? _he wondered, as they rode onward. _Where would I adopt from? _He'd heard of the orphanage in Riften, but it was so far away, and just going there would require a time commitment he couldn't make right now. How would he take care of children when he was busy being the Dragonborn, the hero of Skyrim? Surely it would have to wait until after he killed Alduin.

Yes, he decided, as day faded into evening and the distant smoke of Riverwood came into view. He would adopt children, after all of this was over. Maybe even two of them.

And as they approached Riverwood, dismounted, and tied up their horses, Auldan had to smile as he walked through the gates of the town, eager to see Frodnar and Dorthe again. But unusually, they weren't there to greet him - he didn't even see them running around, the way they always did. Perhaps it was past their bedtimes?

Bewildered and slightly concerned, he looked at Fredrik. "You go meet Delphine at the inn, and tell her I'll be right there. I need to go find the children."

"What, those two little kids? I'm sure they're fine." Fredrik frowned. "They're probably just sleeping."

"Yes, but... they're always here to see me. They're never _not _here."

Fredrik raised an eyebrow. "Well, go find their parents, then. I'm sure they're okay."

"You're probably right." But Auldan's heart rattled with worry as he ascended Gerdur and Hod's doorstep to check on Frodnar. He knocked on the door, and hovered on the step, waiting nervously.

It seemed like an eternity before it opened, and Gerdur peeked out. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Auldan. Are the children all right?"

"Come in," she whispered, and gestured him urgently inside; he hastened into the house, and she shut and bolted the door. Immediately he saw Hod playing on the floor with Frodnar, and felt a surge of relief; the boy was all right. But the look on Gerdur's face was less than reassuring.

"What's been going on here?" he asked. "Why is everyone hiding?"

"There have been vampires about," she whispered. "And dragons. But the vampires especially. They say they want the children, to turn them into monsters like themselves. I didn't feel safe letting Frodnar play in the streets at night, so I've been giving him a curfew. You should be inside, too."

"Vampires? _Dragons?_" Oh, hell; he was suddenly getting a bad feeling. This must be happening everywhere, not just in Kynesgrove and Riverwood, and he feared for all the smaller villages in Skyrim, the places that didn't have guards to protect them. His sister couldn't be involved in all of this, could she? "Surely the guards have been taking care of them."

"They're killing all the guards. We sent someone to Whiterun to ask for reinforcements, but they haven't returned." Gerdur wrung her hands anxiously. "We're at our wit's end, Auldan. Please, you have to help us."

"Don't worry, I'll keep Riverwood safe. Where do these vampires come from? What do they look like? And the dragons, too."

"They come from the west - I don't know exactly where their lair is, but they must be close. And the dragons... they're huge, and hideous. The guards managed to scare one away, but another one nearly tore the roof off Ralof's house. A great yellow beast, with white fangs."

Auldan shivered. _These poor people must be living in constant fear_, he thought. He had to do something about this. "I don't know what I can do about the dragon, but the vampires are within my power to stop. I'll find them once Fredrik and I have finished our business here, I promise you."

"Thank you." She looked visibly relieved, and he was happy to see that the villagers trusted him, at least - he had a feeling that their view of the big, violent Fredrik would take some more convincing. "If you find their lair, or that dragon - please kill them. Kill them all."

He left Gerdur's house with considerable worry, resolving to figure out the vampire menace before they caught one of the villagers. Or, gods forbid, the children. He would die a thousand times over before he let that happen.

But of course, he had promised to see Delphine first. He entered the inn and smiled bracingly at Orgnar, who looked tiredly back at him. "That Nord is a menace," the innkeeper complained. "And you brought him back here _again?"_

"He'll grow on you," Auldan said, amused. "Where did he go?"

"The room on the right." Orgnar jerked a finger towards the door, and Auldan meandered over and opened it, thinking amusedly that Orgnar would probably hate the Nord even if they really did kill Alduin. He was immediately met with raised voices - or at least, the muffled sound of it, coming from the wardrobe in the corner.

Bewildered, Auldan carefully opened the wardrobe doors, and spied a strange indent in the wood back. He touched it, and it slid open to reveal a secret passageway, leading down into a hidden room.

_Brilliant, _he marveled as he headed down the stairs, making sure to close the secret entrance behind him. As he neared, the conversation became audible.

"I am _not _giving up my armor and weapons to some sneaky little elf boy!" Fredrik snarled. "He'll turn around and sell them to some junk shop, they all do! Those pointy-eared bastards are all the same -"

"He's not just some elf boy, you big-headed racist dolt," Delphine snapped back. "Besides, you can't go wearing all that equipment straight into the embassy, or they'll tackle you faster than you can say _skeever. _If you let him smuggle them in, you can have them later, and then you can kill all the elves you want, if that's really what's so important to you."

"Oh, you think I can't take a bunch of sniveling little knife-ears in a fight? I'll shove all their pretty words up their lily-plated asses with my bare hands, you just wait -"

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Delphine countered. "You go punching up half the elven government and piss off the Imperials, and they'll hunt you down, torture you for sport, and rip your Nordic balls off if they don't like your mouth. The goal is to _not _let that happen. Unless you've somehow decided a Thalmor torture chamber sounds like a nice vacation?"

"You think I'm worried about a bunch of Thalmor prissies and their cocktail sticks?" Fredrik barked out a laugh. "I already have the Dark Brotherhood after me, what else do I have to lose?"

"Er, hello?" Auldan inserted politely. "Am I interrupting something?"

Both of them turned to glare at him. "Tell your stupid friend that if he doesn't give up his armor before he reaches the embassy, he'll send the entire Imperial government after both of you," Delphine said flatly. "I've been trying to drill that into his brain for an hour."

"You tell _her," _Fredrik hissed, "that I'm not letting those pointy-eared bastards lay a finger on my gear if the world depended on it."

"The world _does_ depend on it, numbskull," Delphine retorted. "And either you're doing it, or we're not a team."

"I'd like nothing more," Fredrik growled.

Auldan sighed and dragged his hand across his face. Yet again, Fredrik was being a problem. "Listen," he said. "We've got to trust Delphine on this one. I know you have some kind of weird issue with elves, but just this once, can we believe her if she says not all of them are assholes?"

"No," Fredrik snarled. "I never trust elves. I learned that the hard way."

"Then maybe we should split up," Auldan said, folding his arms. "Just like we did on the mountain. Or did you forget that?"

Fredrik's jaw worked furiously as he tried to come up with a response, but failed. "Okay," he spat at last. "I'll give the fucking elf my armor, but I am _not _letting him anywhere near my swords and my hammer. Those are off-limits."

"Fair enough," Delphine said evenly. "You can keep them here if you want. I've got room. But if you don't let him have them, he can't smuggle them into the embassy, and you'll have to rely on Auldan to defend you if you get into combat -"

"Fuck if I'm letting him have all the fun." Fredrik cut her off, and Auldan had to resist a smile; clearly Delphine was learning how to manipulate him. "Fine. He can have my swords. I'll keep my hammer here."

"Okay. Good." Delphine nodded. "Auldan, do you understand the plan, or do you want my spiel, too?"

"No, I think I heard the basics. We give our equipment to somebody who can smuggle them into the embassy, and then we get in somehow and go snooping around for information. Right?"

"Right," Delphine confirmed. "You'll meet my contact in Solitude to discuss the details. I've got invitations made up for you, so if this all goes according to plan, you can walk right in the front door. You'll have to look the part, of course. Do you need any fancy clothes, or do you want me to get some for you?"

"I have some," Auldan said; he had some royal blue nobleman's clothes that he'd been dying to wear for a while now. "Fredrik, what about you?"

"Don't have anything," Fredrik muttered. "I'll go shopping in Solitude."

"Okay." Delphine rested her palms on the table, looking between them. "Sounds like we have a plan. Any questions, or can I trust you two to get to Solitude without killing each other?"

"Don't worry," Auldan said. "If I haven't killed him yet, I never will."

Fredrik smirked. "I'm not fully decided on that front."

"Ha, ha. Let's go." Auldan turned to leave, but Fredrik said,

"Wait. I have something to discuss with Miss Blade over here."

"Fair enough." Delphine shrugged. "Let's hear it."

Fredrik hesitated, and looked meaningfully at Auldan. "In private," he said.

"Oh." Auldan hastily ascended the stairs and shut the door to the secret stairway, but he couldn't help himself; he pressed his ear to the door, trying to make out what they were saying.

He heard Delphine say, "Okay. What's all this about?"

"Your friend, back in Kynesgrove," Fredrik said. "The Dark Brotherhood killed them, looking for me. They'll be after me soon."

There was a brief silence. "I know," Delphine said at length. "I figured you were Blue Eyes. Don't worry - I've met plenty of people who've done worse. If you don't judge me for my past, I won't judge you for yours."

"Thank you," Fredrik said. "I appreciate that." Then, after a moment's pause, "Does that go for Auldan, too?"

"Yes," Delphine said. "I know he's been tangled up in some things in the past, too. I don't know what exactly, but I've heard enough of the Metonius family to know it involved vampires and daedra, and it wasn't good."

"You know about his sister, then."

"Lenora? Yes. They say she's a vampire lord - one of the powerful ones. If I wasn't so busy here I might even go after her myself."

"He hasn't told me much about her," Fredrik said. "What do you know?"

"I just know that she's dangerous. Haven't gotten much information besides that, but I'll keep an eye out if you want me to."

Fredrik was quiet for a moment, apparently weighing his words. "I'm preparing to kill her," he said at length, "when all of this mess with Alduin is over. He's told me that she'll come after him, and I won't let that happen. I know he won't be able to fight her himself, though. Hard to kill your own sister, no matter how far gone she is."

"That's a heavy task," Delphine said. "Have you told him yet?"

"No," Fredrik said. "And frankly, I don't know if I will. Maybe it'll be better, if he hears some mysterious warrior killed her and never knows it was me. Maybe it's better that way."

Auldan listened, his heart trembling. _Fredrik's going to kill my sister. _He didn't know whether he should stop him or not, or even if he could do that in the first place - he'd always accepted that the Nord was stronger than him. He knew he should step aside and let his friend do what was right - but his _sister..._

"I don't want her to hurt him again," Fredrik said. "From what I've gathered, she fucked him up bad when they were kids, and he's still got the scars. I won't ever let anyone hurt him like that again. I'd die first."

"You're a good man," Delphine said. "I misjudged you."

"I might've been too hard on you, too," Fredrik allowed. "I'll try not to be from now on."

Auldan couldn't see it, but he imagined that Delphine smiled. "The problem is that you're too much like me," she said. "Stubborn as a mule, eh?"

"Born and raised," he said, good-naturedly. "I'll see you in Solitude, then."

"Farewell."

There was a brief silence; then Auldan heard Fredrik's slow footfalls ascending the stairs, and he scrambled to a chair in the room and fumbled to open a book, pretending to have been reading. He listened to the secret door open and close, and then Fredrik laid a meaty hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he said. "Let's get moving."

"Right." Auldan put the book away, trying not to cry; he'd always known Fredrik would wrestle a werewolf to protect him, but it was rare to hear the Nord say as much out loud. "Let's go."

"Did you check on the kids?" Fredrik asked, as they walked out of the inn to Orgnar's glares. "Are they okay?"

"They're fine, but Gerdur says there's been vampire and dragon attacks. I might take a break before we travel to Solitude, see if I can find their lair."

"That'll be dangerous," Fredrik said, looking at him uncertainly. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

"Of course I can. I'll be fine." Auldan smiled, trying to reassure him. "I'm stronger than you might think, you know. I've already killed two vampires on this adventure."

"Just keep an eye out. They've always got tricks up their sleeves." Fredrik sighed. "Don't know what I'll do in the meantime. Maybe I'll track down a dragon or two."

"Like you could fight one by yourself."

"You want to bet?" Fredrik grinned. "I'll wager you a hundred septims that I can kill one while you're off finding vampires or whatever. I'll bring back the claw as proof."

"Oh, you're on." Auldan laughed. "Just don't die. That means you forfeit the money by default."

"Noted." Fredrik shot him one of his trademark wry smirks. "Maybe I'll be better off without you. I really think you're just dead weight sometimes."

"Wow, it must be so hard traveling with _another Dragonborn. _I bet that makes it so much harder to kill things."

"Definitely."

Just then a courier rushed up to both of them, panting. "Got a letter for Auldan Metonius," he said, and offered it hopefully. "Took me a while to catch up with you."

"Wow, you messengers travel fast," Auldan said, taking it. "Do you have supersonic horses or something?"

The courier laughed nervously. "Of course not. That would be implausible. Well, er, got to run!" He hurried off.

Auldan shook his head as he opened the letter. "Those couriers are so strange." He noted that this letter was on creamy, embossed stationery, unlike the plain, rough letter from his brother. Its contents, however, put a smile on his face.

_Hello, my dearest new acquaintance,_

_I'm traveling to Windhelm on some business, and I'll be there for a few weeks. Perhaps you'd like to meet me there if you have some time? I promise not to get you staggering drunk this time._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_Marcurio._

"Bastard," Auldan said amusedly, trying not to sound interested even as he folded up the letter and tucked it carefully into his cloak. "Why is everyone so keen on meeting with me all of a sudden? I'd almost think I'm getting popular."

"You've got all sorts of places to be now," Fredrik smirked; he'd been reading the letter over Auldan's shoulder, as the wizard had come to expect by now. "Here for the vampires, Falkreath for your brother, Windhelm for your lover -"

"He's not my lover," Auldan grumbled.

"_Yet," _Fredrik teased, with a light poke on his shoulder. Auldan smacked his hand away.

"Get your thick Nordic head out of the gutter, will you? Running off to Windhelm to meet an Imperial mage for drinks is the last thing on my mind."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," Fredrik said over his shoulder, as he trotted away down the road. "I'm sure you have plenty of other _intellectual _things to worry about."

Auldan shook his head, muttering curses, as he turned his attention back to the vampire problem; Gerdur had told him they came from the west. Perhaps they were hiding in that old iron mine, up by the hills? Embershard Mine, if he recalled correctly. It was a reasonable place to start. He headed there, with a mental note to write both Cain and Marcurio back when he returned - it wouldn't do not to respond, after all. That would be terribly impolite.

_I wonder if Fredrik is really going to kill a dragon, _he thought suddenly, as he strolled down the western path towards the mine. _Or does he have something else in mind, and just doesn't want to tell me? _Maybe the Nord was going to start on his plans to kill Lenora, or prepare to fight back against the Dark Brotherhood assassins that were almost certainly on their way. It was so difficult to read the Nord's true intentions, especially now that Auldan knew he had more than one secret hidden behind those icy blue eyes.

He would just have to trust Fredrik, he decided, even if the Nord acted fishy sometimes. That was what friends - no, blood-brothers did. Surely the Nord didn't have anything horrible and dangerous in mind. That was incredibly unlike him.

Auldan sighed. _Who am I kidding? Of course he does._

He could only hope that whatever the Nord was planning on doing while Auldan was out of the picture, it wasn't _too _completely idiotic.


	11. XI: Bron Nahkriin, Nord's Revenge

_A/N: Hi everybody! If you've made it here, I love and appreciate you so much. Thank you for reading! It really does mean so much to me._

_Anyway, you'll notice a major shift in the storytelling in this chapter, because I've got a surprise for you: every ten chapters, I am going to switch the main perspective of the story between Auldan and Fredrik! You've basically been in Auldan's head this whole time, with minor exceptions (like the jump into Sahloknir in IX), but now, for Chapters XI-XX, you will get to see a slightly different viewpoint, and I'd like to continue this pattern for the rest of the story. After all, what's the fun of having two Dragonborn if Auldan is the only one who gets to be the narrator?_

_I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Fredrik remembered his childhood only in brief glimpses, a smattering of repressed memories and half-remembered echoes that bubbled up occasionally, sometimes out of the blue. Sometimes he would be walking through a farmer's field with Auldan, chatting about spellcasting and books and all the other too-smart things the Breton liked to talk about, and suddenly remember his mother holding his hand as she walked him through the old wheat fields outside Whiterun, helping him reach out and run his fingers along the golden stalks. Other times he would be in the middle of beating a bandit senseless with his hammer, and suddenly recall his father showing him how to hold a bow for the first time, teaching him how to aim and correcting tiny flaws in his stance.

But the memories were always as quick and fleeting as rabbits, and fled as soon as they came - slipping away even as he tried desperately to grasp at them, to keep them in his mind. He wanted so badly to hold on to those flashes, but he could never keep them for very long. Only by telling them to Auldan, or by forcing himself to burn them into his brain, did he remember them for more than a few minutes at a time - and most of the ones he _did _remember were the ones he'd rather forget.

Not that he would ever tell anyone how badly he wished he could remember his family, or at least the good parts. It was just another one of those things he kept locked away inside himself, another repressed emotion or blockaded thought to keep tucked into the little cobwebby corners of his mind, never to see the light of day. That was the Nord thing to do, wasn't it?

Fredrik barked out a laugh as he stepped over a fallen tree. "No wonder Nords are so angry all the time," he muttered, carefully picking his way through the discarded branches and underbrush. "We're all too fucking damaged and repressed for our own good."

He'd been following the trail of the dragon for about two hours now, asking anyone he passed if they'd seen it flying overhead. Everyone had given him the same consensus: it had gone west of Riverwood, fleeing into the woods. And so that was where he went, grumbling all the while and reluctantly wishing Auldan was here to back him up. After traveling alongside the Breton for so long and counting on him for support, Fredrik had to admit he was no longer used to being on his own.

_Not that it's unusual for me, _he thought, as he traversed a rocky, overgrown section of the road and kept a sharp eye out for wolves and bandits. You never knew what sorts of monsters might be lurking in the shadows - there might be trolls, necromancers, undead chickens, giants, and everything in between. He'd had a _lot _of strange encounters on the road throughout the years.

No sooner had this thought crossed his mind when he noticed something up ahead. He paused in his stolid trek and squinted, bewildered; it looked like a small cottage or cabin, with a thatched, slumping roof and a little farm out front. He chuckled to himself. "Who on earth has the iron nuts to live out here?" he asked himself, approaching the front door and giving it a cautious rap of his knuckles.

"Coming!" a creaky old voice called, and Fredrik almost laughed; she sounded like she was ninety years old. _What a dangerous old lady, _he thought sarcastically to himself, thinking that since Auldan wasn't here, he might have free rein to steal everything she owned while her crotchety old back was turned. But of course, he was a good guy now, so there would be none of that today. Probably.

The door opened, and an ancient woman in purple robes smiled warmly at him. "Oh, a visitor!" she said, in a wavering, feeble old voice. "You must be so tired and hungry from your travels. Would you like to come inside and chat with an old woman? I'll make you a nice meal for your trouble."

"Oh, I suppose I can stop for a little while," he demurred; the offer of free food was rather tempting, and he _had _been walking for a while. "What's your name?"

"My name is Anise, dearie. It's so nice to have company! Come in, come in. What's your name?"

"Fredrik," he said, stepping inside. "Nice to meet you."

"What a nice name." She pulled out a chair for him and patted the seat. "Sit down, dearie. I'll make you some soup and some warm milk, how does that sound?"

"You're a nice old lady, aren't you?" he said, settling down in the chair and kicking his feet up; as she bustled about making the soup, he looked around the cabin, noting that she had a number of potion ingredients and books on her shelves. _Must be a wizard, _he thought - it would certainly explain the robes. He amusedly wondered if Auldan had any resplendent purple robes like these. _Bah, w__ho am I kidding? He's gay. Of course he does._

"Here you go, dearie." Anise gave him a bowl of cabbage soup, and he made appreciative noises, trying to ignore how bad it smelled; he wondered how much of it he was obligated to eat for the sake of politeness. "Now, you must be an adventurer, hmm? Looking for that dragon, maybe?"

"Yes, actually. Have you seen it?" Fredrik stirred the soup awkwardly, trying to find a spoonful that wasn't lumpy and didn't smell like rotten skeever vomit. _This lady must use cabbage from the First Age, _he thought, with a distinct sense of foreboding; his stomach was souring at the texture and stench alone, and he didn't dare imagine what might happen if he put some in his mouth. But Anise was watching him closely to see if he ate it, so he swallowed his rising bile and lifted a spoonful to his lips, blowing on it to stall for time. "Smells delicious," he said, feebly.

"Thank you, dearie. It's my special recipe." She beamed with pride. "As for the dragon, I saw it just a few hours ago, before you came. It was circling around, like it was looking for something."

"Was it now?"

"Yes." Her sunken eyes twinkled. "Looking for you, perhaps?"

"Oh, I'm not _that _famous," Fredrik said, still staring uncertainly at his mushy green spoonful of soup and trying to muster the willpower to eat it. He took a deep breath, sent up a quick prayer to Akatosh, and stuffed it into his mouth before he could change his mind, swallowing it quickly so it wouldn't touch his taste buds; he had to force himself not to gag. It tasted like Alduin's armpits.

Anise gave a sweet, grandmotherly chuckle, clearly oblivious to his discomfort. "Do you like it?"

"It's good," he managed, weakly.

"Eat all of it, now. It's good for your stomach."

He had a bad feeling that his stomach would be expelling it in a few minutes, but tried his best to summon a winning look. "Of course," he said. "It's delicious."

"Here's some milk to wash it down," she said, handing him a glass; he chugged it immediately, preferring whatever this was to the disgusting mess in his bowl. But as he set the glass down, sighed, and tried to mentally brace himself for another spoonful, he suddenly realized he was feeling a bit woozy, and screwed his eyes shut to assuage the sudden pounding in his head. _Why do I feel like mammoth shit? _he wondered, massaging his forehead. _I felt fine a minute ago._

"Are you all right, dearie?" Anise asked, apparently noticing his distress. "You look a bit pale."

"Just a little tired," he said, blinking a few times as his vision started to go blurry; and then he had a terrible feeling. Slowly, he looked at the glass he'd just gulped down, and for the first time it occurred to him that it hadn't tasted remotely like milk.

_Fucking hell,_ he thought, with a kind of slowly dawning horror. _I've been had by a ninety-year-old hag. __What kind of prissy way to die is that?_

He was not going to die here, not if he had anything to say about it. He threw his bowl down and fumbled for his twin swords, the ones he had named Death and Despair after their slaying of Sahloknir; he barely managed the coordination necessary to pull them from their sheaths, and stumbled as he tried to raise them against Anise, who merely laughed, unfazed.

"Now, now, dearie," she said, and raised her hands, her fingers crackling with blue electricity. "Let's not get violent. Don't you just want to lie down and sleep?"

He shook his head violently to dispel the nausea, like an elephant shaking off flies, and lunged; but in his dazed state, he was too slow, and Anise dodged easily aside, cackling with glee. She was much faster than any woman with her withered frame should be, and even as Fredrik woozily wound up for another attack, the witch raised her hands and blasted him with a storm of lightning.

The electricity rattled through his teeth, setting all his bones on edge, and he staggered, slumping to one knee; the combination of the magic, the poison and the exertion was finally taking its toll, and he struggled to rise again as Anise lifted her hands for another strike. "Poor dearie," she cooed, with malevolent delight. "Do you want some more milk?"

"Shove it up your ass," he managed, and it took everything he had to stand up and lift his swords for another round. He wasn't giving up that easily. She backed up as he advanced, gritting his teeth and fighting to focus through the blurry fog in his head; he swung at her with Despair, and she blocked with a flash of magic.

"Too easy," she taunted. "You're barely a proper Nord, aren't you?"

The insult burrowed its way into his brain and triggered a memory, a recollection of his father beating his knees with a stick and barking, _"Look at those weak little legs! You're not a proper Nord, boy! Eyes up! Focus! You're weak, you're weak -"_

"I'm not weak!" Fredrik roared, and felt a fresh burst of energy surge through him as he charged at Anise headlong; her eyes widened at his sudden burst of speed, and she fumbled to snatch a chair to defend herself, but he grabbed it out of her hands, gave a ferocious Nordic bellow, and crushed it into splinters with his bare hands.

"Now, dearie -" she started feebly, but he had already seized her throat and was pinning her against the wall of the cabin, seething with rage.

"You don't get to tell me I'm weak," he snarled, and dug his fingers into her throat, relishing her yelp of pain. "No one does."

"How are you still standing?" she croaked. "I gave you a double dose. No one ever survives this long."

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed, and tightened his grip on her neck, making her splutter and cough for breath. "Why did you try to kill me? What's your game? How many people have you done this to?"

"It doesn't matter anymore." She managed a snaggle-toothed smile. "You'll meet my sister soon."

He crushed her neck, and let her drop to the floor, lifeless as a broken toy. He stepped back, breathing hard through his teeth like an animal; the rage was still pounding through his veins like fire. "Why does every single nice old lady in Skyrim end up being an evil piece of shit?" he demanded of the empty air. Somewhat predictably, there was no response.

He stumbled out of the cabin, feeling the effects of the poison returning as his anger wore off; now he was really getting woozy, and it was getting progressively harder to stand. He only managed a few more steps before he slipped and fell in the leaves, and was unable to muster the strength to get back up again.

_No, _he thought, and furrowed his fingers into the dirt, forcing himself slowly back to his knees; and, with an immense effort, climbed shakily back to his feet. He was not going to die in a stupid cabin from some stupid poison. That was not how Fredrik Hammerskull, hero of Skyrim and slayer of dragons, would die. He spat in the dirt and slowly shambled eastward, heading back the way he'd come, in the vague hope that some herbalist or healer would find him before he fell for the last time.

He thought about his father as he walked, the mix of emotions that welled up in him whenever he let himself mull on that complicated mess of a Nord. His father had been cruel to him, that much was beyond debate; he'd beaten him when he stumbled and humiliated him when he cried, he'd instilled in him so much self-hatred and doubt and the ever-constant inferiority complex that had haunted him all his life. But his father had also been the one to read him bedtime stories, dab blue mountain flower extract on his bruises, cook him meals, and scare off his childhood bullies - he'd threaten to kill their fathers and fuck their mothers silly if they kept beating up his son. He had loved Fredrik and cared for him, in his own strange way, and he had tried to toughen him up and get him ready to face the world.

_And look at me now, _Fredrik thought wearily, as he trudged slowly back through the woods. _I'm the toughest son of a bitch I know. Guess at least some of it worked._

His mother... his mother had been different. She was strong, like any proper Nord, and she knew how to fight back when her boys got too rowdy; if anything, she'd often been more terrifying than his father, especially when Fredrik came home with stolen sweetrolls or mud on his boots. "Where did the dirt come from?" she'd ask severely, and he'd scramble to invent a story, which she usually saw right through; and she'd give a world-weary sigh and point him to bed. But she would always come to his room later to give him a kiss and a honey treat before bed. God, he missed her sometimes.

He looked up, hearing a distant roar and the flap of wingbeats; a dragon was gliding silently over the horizon, far away but still too close for comfort. Fredrik sped up his pace, wondering if the scaly beasts could smell blood or see the glint of his armor through the trees - he had no idea how sharp dragon senses might be, and wasn't particularly keen on finding out.

_Auldan would never have fallen for that trap, _he thought sullenly, stepping over a hollow tree trunk. The wizard was always smarter than he was, and picked up on things quicker - not that he would ever admit it. But he knew in his heart that Auldan would have spotted the trick right away, and blasted that scheming old witch into oblivion before Fredrik had even taken a bite. _Stupid smart wizard. I should never have come here without him._

And in that moment, his ears picked up a soft rustle in the trees.

He whirled, and there was the assassin, standing perfectly still, two daggers raised and glinting in the sunlight. It was a Redguard man, swathed in that all-too-familiar red and black Dark Brotherhood armor, staring at Fredrik in silence. He did not move a muscle; he seemed to not even blink.

Fredrik sighed, realizing he wasn't in any kind of state to defend himself - the assassin, perhaps without even meaning to, had caught him at the worst possible moment. "Listen," he said; his head was still ringing from the poison seeping through his veins, and he was in no mood to fight right now, not when he could collapse and die at any second. "I've just had a fight, and I'm really not feeling up to this right now. I'll pay you well to leave me the fuck alone. We can settle this up later."

The man said nothing, just studied him with that unnerving, foreign gaze; it seemed to pick him apart and turn him over without ever moving an inch.

"But hey," Fredrik said, and spread his arms in a weak attempt at bravado. "I'm weak, and I'm alone and defenseless. You caught me at the perfect time. So if you really want to kill me, then have at me. At least I won't go to my death a coward."

The man gazed at him for a moment longer. Then, to Fredrik's surprise, he sheathed his daggers and inclined his head, in a gesture of respect. "I said I would not forget what you did for me," he said. "And I haven't. I will let you live now, just as you once did for me. But be warned - the Dark Brotherhood is always watching, and if our paths were to cross a second time, I cannot grant you this mercy again. We never met." And so saying, he walked off into the trees.

Fredrik stared after him, bewildered, and in his drowsy, weakened state he could not recall what on earth the man had been talking about. But then he remembered - a bandit who had tried to rob him, and a single act of mercy. He thought he would never see that man again.

He managed a weak, disbelieving laugh. "Of all the fucking luck," he said. _What a day this has been._

To his surprise, he managed to get all the way back to Riverwood before finally collapsing, falling to his knees right at the gates; he breathed hard as he pressed his forehead to the cobblestones, trying to summon a last drop of energy and failing. He had no idea if Auldan had come back yet, or where Delphine might be - presumably halfway to Solitude by now. There was no one here to save him, not unless Orgnar had a sudden and drastic change of heart. Where the fuck was a healer when you needed one?

"I'm not here for trouble," he said feebly, hearing footsteps approaching him. "Don't arrest me."

"Big scary Nord guy?" A little girl peered down at him uncertainly. "Do you need help?"

"Yes," he managed. "I'm a friend of Auldan's. Do you know where a healer is?"

"Oh, you must be Fredrik!" The girl took his hand, gently tugging on his fingers. "Come on. I can take you to a healer."

With a massive effort, Fredrik slowly pushed himself to his feet, following unsteadily along behind the girl. "You know me?"

"Auldan talks about you all the time. I'm Dorthe." She walked him to a house and guided him up the steps; he stumbled and clutched at the wall for support as she knocked on the door. "Here, this is where Frodnar's mom and dad live. They'll know what to do."

The door opened at once, and Gerdur peeked out; her eyes went wide when she saw the pale, shaking Fredrik hovering on the doorstep, with Dorthe holding tightly to his hand. "Oh my goodness, are you okay?"

"He's sick," Dorthe said. "He's that scary Nord guy Auldan is always running around with. Can you help him?"

"Of course!" Gerdur held the door open so Fredrik could stagger weakly inside. "My husband, Hod, is out right now, so you can borrow his bed. Please, lie right down - what happened to you?"

"Poison," Fredrik said feebly, as Gerdur helped him lie down. "I need an antidote. Do you have one?"

"You're in luck." Gerdur took a green vial off the shelf and offered it to him. "I bought one from Lucan yesterday."

He took it and gulped it down as Gerdur studied him, clearly curious. "Thank you," he said, when he'd finished the bottle; his head was already clearing. "I feel much better."

"So you're Auldan's friend, are you?" She took the empty bottle and set it aside. "I always see you with him, but I never caught your name."

"Fredrik," he said; he figured he might as well be polite and try to repair his reputation around here, at least for Auldan's sake. Orgnar couldn't be helped, of course, but maybe he could convince the rest of the townfolk he wasn't a thieving psychopathic murderer. "Fredrik Hammerskull."

"I'm Gerdur. Hod and I, we're sort of the leaders of the village - he makes most of the decisions around here. My brother, Ralof, lives here with us. He's off exploring Embershard Mine right now, looking for those vampires." She reached out and fluffed his pillow for him, an oddly maternal gesture. "Auldan's such a dear. He lived here for a while, did you know that? He's so wonderful with the children."

"Yes, he talks about them all the time." Fredrik sighed and leaned his head back on the pillow, suddenly exhausted. "That was some good stuff you gave me. I could really use a nap. Has Auldan come back yet?"

"No," Gerdur said, looking at him with a frown. "I thought he was with you. Don't tell me he went off after the vampires all by himself."

"He did," Fredrik said wearily. "I should have gone with him, now that I think about it. It was stupid of me to let him go alone."

"Well, I'm sure he can handle it. It's just that the Jarl is sending guards in a few days to deal with them - I didn't mean to encourage Auldan into a suicide mission in the meantime."

"He's got a habit of running off by himself," Fredrik said; he wanted to lie down and rest for a while after his ordeal with Anise, but he knew his friend's safety was more important. "I should probably go make sure they haven't mashed him into blood pudding."

"Just be careful," Gerdur said, as Fredrik slowly rose and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "That poison won't dissipate right away. You're still looking a bit woozy."

"I'm fine." Fredrik walked carefully over to Dorthe, and knelt down in front of her, adopting the serious, imperative tone of a Jarl. "Thank you for saving me, Dorthe of Riverwood," he said. "You are a worthy Nord."

Dorthe giggled, and threw her arms around him; he held her close, and felt his tough warrior heart melt, just a little. "You're not so scary after all," she said into his shirt.

He sighed fondly and ruffled her hair, baffled as to where this sudden rush of fatherly affection had come from. _Do I want kids? _he wondered. "Run along home now," he said. "I'm sure your parents are worried sick about you."

Dorthe darted off, and he left Gerdur's house with a little parental glow in his heart. _I'm not telling Auldan about this, _he decided, tromping off down the western road to find his wizard.

Gerdur had mentioned that Ralof was in Embershard Mine, and Fredrik seemed to remember that being an abandoned iron mine in the western hills, if he recalled Auldan's map correctly; that was probably a good place to start if he was looking for a vampire lair, and presumably it was where Auldan had gone, too. He shook off the last of his dizziness as he traversed the grassy landscape, knowing he probably shouldn't be doing this; he should be lying in bed, not running off on a reckless quest to save somebody who was probably fine in the first place.

_He's just fine, _Fredrik scolded himself. _He can blast fire out of his hands and he knows what he's doing. __You worry too much. You shouldn't even be doing this. _But there was a gnawing anxiety in his mind when he thought about what might be going on in that lair right now, and his brain helpfully conjured up mental images of Auldan getting torn apart by death hounds and hung on thumbscrews and served to the vampires for dinner. He shuddered and increased his pace. If something really had happened to his wizard, he needed to get there before it was too late.

As he climbed the sloping hills towards the mine entrance, he abruptly wondered what it was like to be a vampire. Auldan certainly never talked about it, but his vague references made it sound horrible - clearly it had scarred him enough to become an adamant vegetarian and animal lover who didn't even touch dark magic with a ten-foot pole. The legends said that it stole your soul, ripped your heart in two, and killed your body to turn you into a hideous undead vessel. Not exactly a pleasant process, and it must have been incredibly difficult to find someone who could reverse it. If Falion hadn't come along and figured out a way to undo what had been done... well, then Auldan would probably still have fangs.

_I wonder if he'd ever snack on me, _Fredrik thought with amusement as he ducked into the mine, drawing his warhammer for protection. You never knew what kinds of monsters might be lurking in places like this, and he'd long ago learned his lesson about walking into a dungeon unarmed. There could be undead draugr, crawling chaurus, twisted Falmer, spiders - god forbid, _spiders._ He hated spiders, almost as much as he hated draugr. He internally shuddered as he made his careful way through the sloping tunnel before him, checking for traps along the way and praying this place was unoccupied.

As he walked, he heard distant, echoing voices farther down the tunnel, and tensed, clutching his hammer in preparation for a fight; as he neared and dropped into a sneaking position, the words came into sharper focus, bouncing down the rocky walls towards him - a man's voice, but not Auldan's. "Well, I'm sure your Nordic friend will be coming along shortly."

_Nordic friend? _Fredrik wondered. _Is he talking about me?_

"Yes," Auldan said from somewhere down the tunnel, and Fredrik jumped, not realizing he was the other half of the conversation. _Who the hell is he talking to? _"I'm sure he's already killed that dragon and is coming here to check on me. He worries too much."

"It's nice that he cares," the stranger said. "Obviously he does."

"He does," Auldan agreed, with a weary laugh. "I can't believe how much he's grown on me. Not so long ago we were at each other's throats."

Fredrik tiptoed further into the tunnel, then stopped, seeing a bridge before him; the voices were coming from somewhere down below and to his right. He cautiously peeked down, and saw Auldan sitting in a small camp, warming his hands by the fire and chatting amiably with someone Fredrik couldn't see. Clearly he wasn't in any danger, but Fredrik was always wary about strangers.

_Oh, wait. _He suddenly realized this must be Ralof; clearly he and Auldan knew each other from when they were children, which meant there was nothing to worry about here. He sheathed his hammer and started across the bridge, intending to head down to the camp and join them; but as he neared, Auldan said, "How goes the war?"

"Well enough," Ralof said, poking at the fire with a stick. "Ulfric means to advance his position soon, so I'll have to go off to war."

"I wish you weren't a Stormcloak," Auldan said, with a sincerity that made Ralof glance at him, surprised. "But if I'm honest with myself, I probably would have joined you if they didn't spit at my boots and call me mage scum. Anyone who isn't a Nord is treated like skeever shit. Do you know how many times I've been pushed and shoved and called names by Stormcloak soldiers who know they can walk all over me without their commanders lifting a finger?"

"I know," Ralof said, and looked at the fire again, sounding a bit apologetic. "We're not all like that. But I know some of my countrymen have been assholes to you, and for that, I apologize."

"It's not your fault," Auldan managed a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, but Fredrik knew his friend too well; he was laughing because he was trying to hide the pain inside. Clearly a lifetime of jabs and slurs from racist Nords had affected him much more than he let on.

Somehow Fredrik had never thought about it - how much Auldan must have been hated and scorned in Skyrim throughout his life, just for not being a Nord.

He took a slow breath and descended the steps. Auldan looked up as he approached, and brightened. "Oh, Fredrik, there you are! I was just talking to Ralof here. Have you met?"

"No, I don't think we have," Fredrik said, and extended a stalwart hand. "Fredrik Hammerskull, at your service."

"Ralof," Ralof said, shaking it firmly. "You've got a good grip there, countryman. I've heard a lot about you - did you really crush a skeever skull with your bare hands?"

"As far as you know, yes," Fredrik said, grinning cheekily as he sat down by the fire. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." Ralof scooted a few inches to the right to give him more room, then gamely offered him a skewer of meat. "You want a snack?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Fredrik's stomach was still churning from the cabbage soup and his near-poisoning; he wasn't in any mood to eat anything else today. He looked meaningfully at Auldan. "So, you didn't find any vampires, I'm assuming?"

"No," Auldan admitted. "Ralof and I scoured this place together after we bumped into each other, but they're not here. Their lair must be somewhere else."

"Well, we'll find them," Fredrik said, decisively. "They've got to be around somewhere."

"Yes, I can't sit idly by while they're attacking Riverwood." Auldan sighed and kicked at the fire. "Otherwise they might get the children, and I could never forgive myself for letting that happen."

"I met Dorthe," Fredrik said. "I can see why you like her. She's spunky."

"Isn't she?" Auldan chuckled fondly. "Hopefully she's staying safe. I know Sigrid and Alvor are taking care of her, but I still worry about her. Frodnar, too."

"Did Auldan ever tell you we used to play together, when were kids?" Ralof smiled at Fredrik. "We ran off to explore Bleak Falls Barrow once. I don't think he ever recovered from that experience."

"I wasn't _that _scared," Auldan demurred, grinning sheepishly. "But we never went back after that."

"And didn't we play trolls and elves in that old cave by the river?"

"Oh, yeah! I remember that place."

Fredrik smiled; it was nice to hear Auldan reminiscing so happily. "You two must have been good friends," he said.

"Well, we were both loners," Auldan said. "Maybe that was why we bonded."

"At least until I joined the Stormcloaks," Ralof reminded him. "Then you weren't so pleased with me. I think we had a big fight over that, didn't we?"

"Yeah, that was about when we stopped talking. But I'm over it now." Auldan gave him a weary smile. "You've chosen a side that you believe in, and I don't want to stand in your way. Just don't get yourself killed out there, all right?"

"Right back at you." Ralof chuckled and rose from his chair, dusting off his armor. "Well, I'd better get back to the village before Gerdur pops a vein worrying about me. Are you going to keep searching for those vampires?"

"Yes, I think I'll check that little house up by the river, see if they saw anything," Auldan said. "Didn't some old lady used to live there?"

"Oh, you mean Anise?" Fredrik snorted out a laugh. "Too late. I found out she was a witch and killed her."

Auldan's eyes widened as Ralof headed up the stairs and across the bridge, waving merrily to them as he went. "Is _that _where you've been this whole time? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry. She almost poisoned me, but luckily Gerdur had a remedy." Fredrik shrugged. "Didn't hurt me much. Nordic constitution, and everything."

"You idiot, you could've gotten yourself killed." Auldan sighed. "But at least you killed her first. Did she have anything of use?"

"No, just some old potion ingredients. I didn't search the house too much before I left."

"Well, maybe we'll head back there later. But for now..." Auldan frowned. "I can't think of anything else nearby, or at least nowhere a vampire coven could be hiding. Should we expand our search? Where do you think they're coming from?"

"Beats me," Fredrik said. "But I saw the dragon. It was flying around to the north, up by Brittleshin Pass."

"Oh! Good. That means it's staying away from the village." Auldan's brow furrowed as he debated. "But do we go after it, and risk leaving Riverwood unprotected? What if we come back and the vampires have attacked again?"

"Well, we could stay in the village for a while," Fredrik said. "Just keep an eye on things, until reinforcements arrive from Whiterun. Gerdur said they should be sending more guards soon."

"That's comforting to hear." Auldan shook his head. "But we're heroes, not cowards. We're hunting down these vampires and killing them, not waiting around for someone else to do it for us."

"Wow," Fredrik said, impressed despite himself. "That's awfully Nordic of you."

Auldan grinned. "You really think so?"

"Yeah. You almost sounded like me for a minute there."

"How flattering." But Auldan was clearly delighted by the praise, however much he struggled to hide it. "Come on, let's trek back up to Bleak Falls Barrow and see if the vampires are lairing there. We should be able to reach it by nightfall."

"I don't want to go back there," Fredrik whined, as Auldan rose and packed up his things. "It has draugr and that giant spider and it's _cold."_

"Fine. You want to sit around in the village and wait for me instead?"

Fredrik grumbled, but rose to follow him out of the mine. "Can we at least stop by that smithy in Riverwood before we go? I need to buy some new armor."

"What, are you getting tired of the stovepot helmet?"

"It's kept me safe this far, hasn't it?" Fredrik tapped on it with a soft _tink _sound. "But I was thinking of replacing my breastplate, not the helmet. It's got holes in it and it's starting to smell like a damp slaughterfish."

"Well, if we can scrape together enough gold, we might be able to buy you some steel armor," Auldan said. "That would _really _make you look like an asshole."

"But it'd protect me in case you turn back into a vampire and try to rip my face off," Fredrik said.

He'd meant it as a joke, but Auldan's face fell slightly.

"Oh, shit, I was kidding," Fredrik said hastily, immediately feeling bad. "I didn't mean it."

"I know. Sorry. I'm too sensitive." Auldan shook his head, trying to maintain his cheerful bravado. "Let's just get going, okay?"

"Sorry," Fredrik said again, a bit unnecessarily, as they exited the mine and emerged into the setting sun. "I'm an asshole, I know."

Auldan gave him a strange look. "Are you feeling okay?"

"What?"

"It's just that you never say you're sorry," he said. "Ever."

Fredrik frowned. "Sure I do. I say it all the time."

"No, you really don't," Auldan said. "The last time you said it was when you punched me in the face."

"Still can't get over that, can you?" Fredrik said, jokingly; but he was frantically trying to remember another instance when he'd truly, actually apologized to someone. Despite racking his brains as best he could, he couldn't recall a single one, and felt an instant, crushing sense of guilt. _Why did I never notice that before? Holy shit, I really am an asshole._

"Hey, Auldan?" he said.

"Yes?"

But as Fredrik opened his mouth to say something, there came a thunderous, world-shattering roar that split his eardrums like a dagger; he doubled over, clutching his ears, just in time to be buffeted by a tremendous gust of wind from the beats of cavernous wings.

_Oh, no, _he thought, as a massive dragon landed before them with a mighty _thud, _shaking the trees in their roots. It raised its huge head and gazed at them with two murderous orange eyes, and then clawed the ground and lashed its tail along the dirt, snarling. "I challenge you, _Dovahkiin," _it rumbled. "Come and die in my talons."

"Fuck," Fredrik groaned, drawing his warhammer and standing at the ready. "Did you have to pick _right now?"_

Auldan, however, shot Fredrik a wry look. "Hey, Fredrik," he said. "What do you say we use our secret weapon from the Greybeards?"

Fredrik grinned, catching his drift at once. "I like the way you think."

And together they roared the words: "_FUS RO!"_

The combined might of their Voices tore at the dragon's wings like the claws of some invisible beast, and it staggered back, hissing and spitting, as the two Dragonborn rushed in for the kill. By now they had two dragon slayings under their belts, and knew exactly what to do - Fredrik nimbly scaled the dragon's body as Auldan slashed at it with ice and fire, and as the dragon growled and backed away, spreading its wings in an attempt to take to the air, Fredrik drew Death and Despair, gave a guttural Nordic roar, and buried them both up to the hilt in the dragon's neck.

The dragon screamed, a terrible sound that grated their eardrums, as hot blood gushed from its neck and soaked Fredrik head to toe; he laughed in furious triumph as he yanked his swords free - then yelped and dug his fingers into its scales as it burst into the air with a frantic beat of its wings, hurtling away from the trees and soaring high into the sky.

"FREDRIK!" Auldan bellowed from the ground.

"I'm okay!" Fredrik yelled back, clinging to the dragon for dear life as it soared through the sky, still bellowing in pain and spewing thick blood from its wounds; the wind battered him and howled in his ears as he held on tightly to its spines and prayed to Akatosh that he wouldn't get tossed off into the mountains below. Dragonborn or not, that would be a _long _way down. He screwed his eyes shut as the dragon gave a long, high-pitched roar, and then slowly began to descend, back down towards the trees. His heart lifted with relief - was it finally going to land?

No, he realized, with a kind of dawning horror as the ground began to hurtle up to him at sickening speed. It was going to _crash._

He had exactly one second to pray fervently to every god he knew before the dragon slammed into the ground like an airplane, and he went hurtling off and flying into the trees beyond, his back slamming hard into a pine tree. Pain exploded through him, as though a large spike had just been driven into his spine, and he slumped to the ground and lay in a heap as Auldan sprinted towards him at top speed.

"Fredrik!" Auldan skidded to his knees and grabbed frantically at the Nord's armor, trying to turn him over; Fredrik coughed up a string of blood and blinked stupidly up into the sunlight. _Gods, _he was in a lot of pain, but he'd... survived?

"Am I alive?" he wondered aloud.

"I think so," Auldan said, but his eyes were wide as he surveyed the Nord's injuries; from this angle Fredrik couldn't see how badly he was hurt, but the throbbing pain in his ribcage suggested he'd broken at least a few important bones. "You'll definitely have to replace the armor now, though."

Fredrik managed a weak laugh, trying to ignore the fact that the pain was getting worse; now he could feel it in his chest, the stabbing agony like white-hot needles, and he dimly wondered how much it would cost for a healer to fix him this time. "Hey, at least now I can say I rode a dragon."

Auldan, however, was frantically opening his book bag and taking out a yellow-bound tome. "Hold still. I'm going to try something."

"Don't you dare do any magic on me," Fredrik said, but he was too weak and in too much pain to protest as Auldan rested a hand on his collarbone and began to utter incantations. He closed his eyes as warmth spread through his body, and he suddenly felt the strangest sensation of his broken bones knitting back together and his life force returning, the strength seeping back into his limbs. It felt like he'd just been immersed in warm water, and he blinked a few times and stretched his muscles, surprised, as Auldan finished the spell and closed the book with a decisive _snap._

"Did it work?" Auldan asked, sounding a bit nervous. "I've never tried it on a real person before."

"Yes," Fredrik said, flexing his arms to make sure they were working again. "Where the hell did you learn that?"

"I bought it while we were in Riverwood last time," Auldan admitted. "I always wanted to learn some restoration magic, but I never thought I had the magical skill to handle it. Turns out I do."

"You're a genius," Fredrik said, carefully sitting up and massaging his ribs; it still twinged a little, but nothing like the stinging agony of a few minutes ago. He'd probably be able to sleep this one off. "Feels like I'm hungover, but I'll be fine tomorrow morning."

"Okay, good," Auldan said, looking visibly relieved. "You scared me for a minute there. I thought you were going to die."

"Me? Die? Don't be ridiculous." Fredrik puffed out his chest, then winced as it made his newly-healed ribs throb. "Ow."

"Take it easy," Auldan said hastily, resting a hand on his shoulder to help him stand. "Let's go make sure that dragon is really dead, and then you can saw off one of its claws for your collection."

"Bet hell I'm going to." Fredrik steadied himself, then jangled his dragon claw necklace for emphasis, grinning. "We'll have _three _of those assholes down now, and the bones to prove it."

They headed over to the dragon's corpse together, and Auldan kicked it in the head to make sure it didn't move, peering into its lifeless orange eyes. "Good," he said, when he was satisfied that it wasn't about to rise from the dead. "Now let's absorb its soul and get out of here. I think it's my turn, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I got to eat Sahloknir. You're up."

Auldan closed his eyes, and Fredrik watched as the dragon's form slowly melted and fell in upon itself, shrinking into a skeleton; its soul rushed out in a burst of light and slammed into Auldan, and he stepped back, wincing. "Oof," he said. "That was an angry one."

"Well, it's a dead one now." Fredrik knelt down, smirking, and took out his sword to hack off one of its talons; as he worked on the bones, Auldan wandered away to study the small crater the dragon's impact with the ground had created.

"Do you think someone will notice we've added a dragon skeleton and a massive hole in the ground to the landscape?" he asked, as Fredrik finally pulled the claw off and threaded it carefully onto his necklace to join the others. "Hopefully the spriggans won't get too angry at us."

"Pah," Fredrik said, and draped a playful arm around his shoulders. "I think it adds character."

"You're right." Auldan laughed, leaning easily against him as they walked back to the village. "Violent, horrible character."

"We'll consider it a souvenir." Fredrik smiled as he watched the sunlight flicker through the trees, and then he remembered something, and wondered if now was a good time to bring it up. _Well, better now than never, I suppose._ "You know, I never got to finish my sentence earlier. We were rather rudely interrupted."

"Oh, right. I almost forgot. What were you going to say?"

"I was going to tell you," Fredrik said, "that I'm sorry for what your sister did to you. I don't know everything, but it sounds like she really fucked you up. I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm always here for you, if you need anything."

Auldan looked at him with a soft expression. "That's sweet of you to say. I appreciate it."

They walked for a while in silence after that, but Fredrik could swear that Auldan walked a little closer to him than before. Then, out of the blue, Auldan suddenly said,

"I'm sorry about your mother. You don't have to tell me how she died, but I can tell it hurt you. I can't imagine what losing her must have been like."

Fredrik watched a woodlouse crawl slowly up his pant leg, clinging to him for support. "I don't think about it very much. I try not to."

"Were you close to her, growing up?"

"Yes. Closer than I was to my father, I think. He used to yell at me and berate me when I made a mistake or screwed up my training, but Mom was always there to give me a sweetroll and keep him in line. She protected me, always. And she used to tell me I was her little frostbite spider - because I was always trying to climb things and get in trouble."

Auldan smiled. "She sounds nice."

"She was." Fredrik brushed the louse gently off his pant leg. "Nearly killed me, when she died. It was hard learning to live without her always being there for me."

Auldan touched his arm softly, a supportive gesture. "You'll see her again in Sovngarde. That's where the bravest Nords go, isn't it?"

"Yes." Fredrik set his jaw, trying hard to maintain his stoic Nordic composure. "At least I have that to look forward to."

Auldan said nothing, but he kept a hand on Fredrik's arm, silently conveying that he was always there for him.

It didn't take long, of course, for Fredrik's mood to improve. It may have helped that Auldan bought him a brand-new, shiny set of steel armor at Alvor's smithy, complete with a fiercely horned steel helmet that perfectly complemented the look. Fredrik struck dramatic poses, grinning with childlike glee, as Auldan looked on with deep amusement. "Feeling better?" he asked.

"Oh, much better." Fredrik flexed his muscles, listening to the plates clank merrily as they rubbed against each other. "I've never been able to afford steel before. Do we have room in the budget for it?"

"Well, I had enough for either a new set of armor for you, or a new set of wizard's robes for me," Auldan admitted. "But I figured you could use it more."

Fredrik scowled. "No, no. We're not doing that. Come on."

And he frog-marched Auldan all the way over to the general store, where he took out his own money pouch and dropped it on the table. "What's the nicest set of magical robes this can buy?" he asked, as Lucan opened the pouch and counted out his coin.

"Well, since you were good enough to help get my claw back, I think I can make you a bargain on some adept robes," Lucan mused, holding a septim up to the light to make sure it was real. "Someone just sold me a fresh set."

Thus did Auldan walk out of the store in a set of resplendent orange robes, breathlessly admiring the fineness of the fabric and thanking Fredrik profusely. "Don't worry about it," Fredrik said breezily, smiling as Auldan stuttered out his gratitude. "You look great. You're like a real wizard now."

"I _feel _like a real wizard," Auldan said, clearly awestruck as he gazed down at himself; Fredrik suddenly wondered if he'd ever owned anything so nice before. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Really, don't mention it." Fredrik grinned. "I do have one condition, though."

"Name it."

"For the love of the gods, you're not dragging me back to Bleak Falls Barrow. I'd rather go to Solitude and attend that stupid elven party first."

Auldan laughed. "Okay, I'll take that deal." The reinforcements from Whiterun had arrived while they were gone, and both of them felt slightly better about leaving the townsfolk unattended for a while, especially now that they'd killed the dragon that had been attacking the villagers. They could worry about vampire attacks once the dragon menace was out of the picture. "Let's get the horses and head to Solitude - we can stop for the night along the way." Then, as they headed to the village gates, "Damn, I feel so _classy _in these. Like I'm some wizardly nobleman."

"Well, you already sound the part." Fredrik punched his shoulder playfully. "Your accent sounds like it took a walking tour of High Rock."

"Oh, and yours doesn't sound like you fell straight out of Sovngarde and hit every cloud on the way down?"

"Touche." Fredrik suddenly realized something, and barked out a laugh. "I just remembered. We were supposed to buy nice clothes for that party, weren't we?"

"Oh, yeah! I forgot too." Auldan grinned sheepishly as he looked down at his new gear. "You think these robes will count?"

"No, probably not. But I hear there's a fancy clothing shop in Solitude, so we can stop there on our way to our elf friend." Fredrik smirked as they mounted their horses. "After all, you're probably really into _fashion, _aren't you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Auldan's eyes narrowed as Fredrik snapped the reins of his horse. "Did you just - that's a _stereotype, _you stupid gallumphing -"

"You'll have to catch me if you want me to take it back!" Fredrik called behind him, nudging his horse's sides to make her gallop away; Auldan promptly cracked the reins on his own to follow, yelling angry curses at his retreating back.

"You cheeky little -"

"Too far away, can't hear you!" Fredrik shouted, laughing as Auldan furiously chased him down. In retrospect, they were probably going to make it to Solitude in record time.

He hadn't felt so happy about the future in a long time. They had a third dragon kill to add to their names, two brand-new sets of armor, a witch problem taken care of (for now, at least), and Fredrik had survived his first confrontation with the Dark Brotherhood assassins who were presumably still on his trail. But that was a problem for another day.

_Things are looking up for us, _he thought decisively, smiling up at the clouds and wondering if his mother really was up there somewhere, watching over him. _Nothing is going to stop us now, least of all some stupid pointy-eared freaks with a superiority complex._

Infiltrating the party was going to be easy. Despite the fact that all of their previous missions had nearly gone sideways, he was feeling good about this one - he didn't anticipate a single problem. It was all going to go perfectly according to plan. Because they were the Dragonborn now, and nothing could stop them.

Right?


	12. XII: Fahliil Fron, Elven Relations

_A/N: Wow, I just realized I haven't written anything in a couple months now. Sorry, guys. Life happened and my dad got sick. Hopefully things improve and I'm able to update on a more regular basis again. But for now, here's a nice long chapter as an apology!_

* * *

The party did not go according to plan. Neither did the events leading up to the party, or the events afterward, or really _anything _in between. In retrospect, their carefully crafted schemes falling apart at the first hint of adversity wasn't too unusual, but somehow Fredrik had been hoping that their next quest _wouldn't _end with one of them nearly getting killed. But of course, this was Skyrim, and having just one thing go correctly was probably too much to hope for.

The first problem came when they arrived in Solitude, and realized that something was amiss. For one thing, the streets were not empty and peaceful; instead, there was a large, unruly crowd of peasants and shopkeepers gathered in the town square around a wooden platform, nearly blocking the gates and roaring curses and threats at something the two Dragonborn couldn't see. The guards were obviously struggling to control the chaos, barking for order and trying to keep the masses away from the platform. Fredrik frowned. "Looks like a royal announcement, or something."

"No," Auldan said dully, and motioned to the stage. "It's an execution."

Fredrik followed his gaze, and understood. There was no royal entourage on the wooden dais, nor was there a king; instead, a masked executioner stood with his massive axe at the ready, looming over a trembling man dressed in sackcloth and covered in bruises and cuts, as a man in courier's clothes recited the sentence from a scroll. "Roggvir of Solitude, for your crime of opening the gates for the traitor Ulfric's escape after he slayed the true king of Skyrim, you are sentenced to death. May the gods watch over your soul, and may the Divines bless..."

A man standing beside the courier cut him off. "Enough with the platitudes. Roggvir, you helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape this city after he murdered High King Torygg. By opening that gate for Ulfric you betrayed the people of Solitude."

"There was no murder," Roggvir said fiercely. "Ulfric challenged Torygg! He beat the High King in fair combat. Such is our way! Such is the ancient custom of Skyrim, and all Nords!"

"Silence," the man said, and waved idly. "Guard. Prepare the prisoner."

"I don't need your help," Roggvir snapped, as the guard approached. "I'm ready to die."

"Very well," the man said, sounding bored. "Bow your head. Ahtar, take him."

"On this day," Roggvir pledged, as he laid his head down to the exuberant roars of the crowd, "I go to Sovngarde."

"That's his crime?" Auldan asked, disbelievingly, as the crowd cheered and hollered. "He was just doing his job. Guards are supposed to let people through the gates. He probably didn't even realize who Ulfric was at the time."

"Doesn't matter," Fredrik said, and watched the courier close the scroll and step aside. "In their eyes, he's a traitor. An accomplice."

"Kill him," someone shouted from the crowd, as the executioner stepped closer and began to clean his axe. "Kill the bloody fool and get on with it!"

"Traitor!" a woman hollered. "Betrayer of the crown!"

"I don't like this." Auldan said, agitatedly. "Can't we go somewhere else?"

"No," Fredrik said. "It's our duty to watch."

"It's just - I haven't watched an execution in a long time." Auldan shifted uncomfortably. "Can we please leave?"

"You don't like them?" Fredrik frowned. "It's normal for Nords. Coming out to watch one is basically a Nordic holiday. And you've seen me cut heads off all the time."

"But when you cut off heads, it's in self-defense. This is - this is different. It's -" Auldan grimaced as the executioner readied the axe. "Fredrik -"

"What? Come on, I know you're not squeamish."

The executioner raised his axe high, and the cheering of the crowd swelled. "KILL HIM!" a man roared. "Finish him off!"

"Kill the traitor!"

"Fredrik," Auldan whispered, and Fredrik looked at him and saw for the first time that the Breton was ashen-white, trembling. _Oh, _he thought, suddenly realizing that there was something else about this situation that was frightening the Breton, and it had nothing to do with being squeamish.

He grabbed Auldan's elbow without another word, covering his eyes as he walked him swiftly away from the execution. Behind him, he heard the meaty _thwack _of the axe meeting neck and the rolling of the man's head falling down the dais, and the thunderous cheers of the crowd. _Wish I could have seen it, _he thought, guiding Auldan into the Winking Skeever and firmly sitting him down in a chair.

"Stay," he told him. "I'll get you an ale."

"Fredrik -" Auldan started to protest, but Fredrik glared at him, and the wizard wisely shut his mouth.

He stomped up to the bartender, who looked up and gave him a bright smile. "Welcome to the Winking Skeever, my friend -" he started, but Fredrik cut him off.

"Ale," he said, and pushed a septim across the counter. "Two. Now."

"Okay, okay." The bartender hastened to pour him two glasses. "Did you see that execution out there? Quite the strong stuff, that. You know, I heard that Roggvir -"

"Save it." Fredrik picked up the glasses and brought them over to Auldan, pushing one into his hand. "Drink."

Auldan drank as Fredrik settled down in a chair beside him. "I hate this," he said, as Fredrik arranged his swords and balanced them against the wall. "I hate all of this."

"What?"

"The Stormcloaks and the Imperials, the war, all of it." He closed his eyes_._ "I just want it to end. No one else should have to die over petty arguments about who killed what or who's to blame. Why can't they all just sit down and talk it out?"

"Because the Imperials all bend over forwards to please the elves, and Nords hate elves. Because there's a bunch of disputed territory and horrible war crimes on both sides. Because Ulfric killed the king and no one can agree on if it was honorable or not. Take your pick." Fredrik took a long swig of his ale for emphasis. "People can't sit down and talk out their problems if they can't even agree on if the sky's blue. So all that's left to do is fight until someone is dead, and then the winner gets to say what color the sky is. And that's why we have war."

Auldan stared at him for a moment, clearly unsettled. "You're surprisingly philosophical, when you want to be," he said. "Why can you articulate deep opinions on warfare without ever having learned how to read?"

"I blame the education system." Fredrik took another drink. "You want me to tell you my theories on religion too? I have some _very _well-formed thoughts."

"I'm sure you do." Auldan's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Fredrik laughed.

"What, you doubt me?"

"Yes. Immensely."

"Well, maybe I've just been faking being a big stupid Nord this whole time, to keep you off guard. Maybe I'm secretly a genius." Fredrik tapped his helmet for emphasis. "I could have a brain to rival Shalidor ticking away up here, and you would never know it."

Auldan gave his obligatory sigh. "You're insufferable," he said. "I don't think I've told you that today."

"Well, now you have." Fredrik frowned, suddenly remembering what they had come here for in the first place. "Hey, aren't we supposed to meet that elf boy here? Where is he?"

"Good question." Auldan looked around. "I don't see him. I guess we could visit that fancy clothes store while we wait?"

Fredrik squinted at him suspiciously. "You're just saying that because you want to go to the fancy clothes store, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Auldan said vaguely. Fredrik shook his head wearily.

"Oh, fine," he said. "But only for _five minutes."_

And that was how he found himself standing in the softly glowing hallways of the Radiant Raiment, patiently waiting while Auldan hummed and debated over his party wear. "I could try green," he mused, holding up a green robe to study the fit. "But that's not really my color. Or I could go with blue. Do you think blue would look good with a golden amulet?"

"It's been thirty bloody minutes," Fredrik said flatly. "I'll say whatever it takes to get us out of here. Yes."

"Come on, you've dragged me to so many smithies and armories and made me look at sword designs. Now it's my turn to make you suffer." Auldan grinned and held up a bright orange robe to Fredrik. "You think this would fit you?"

"I hate you," Fredrik said. Then his gaze traveled to a brightly dyed silver-and-gold tunic. "Ooh! What's that?"

"This one?" Auldan frowned and held it up for Fredrik's inspection. It was gaudy, flashy and incredibly stupid, and Fredrik loved it. "The elves are going to think you're a party clown."

"Exactly," Fredrik said. Auldan gave him a withering look.

"We're picking out some _actual _clothes for you," he said, and put the silver robe down. "Now pick something out before I beat you to death with a mannequin."

"Okay, okay." Fredrik grudgingly sifted through the clothes on display. "Don't they have anything for Nords who don't give a shit about fashion?"

"That would be this." Auldan showed him a plain brown tunic, a basic set of party clothes. "You won't make much of an impression in it, though."

"Fuck me if I care about first impressions." Fredrik snatched the clothes and marched up to the counter, and plopped the shirt and shoes down on the counter without preamble. "How much for these?"

The shopkeeper, a sour-looking Altmer, sighed pointedly. "Not my best offering, but I shouldn't expect anything else from a Nord. Twenty-five septims."

"Excuse me?" Fredrik had long grown used to these kinds of jabs, but he still felt the need to retort amusedly as he counted out his money. "I don't see _you _looking good in anything, Princess Haughty."

"Watch your mouth, or I'll charge you double." But the Altmer smirked as she took the money, clearly pleased to have found someone bold enough to challenge her. "I'm sure those clothes will somehow manage to make you visually pleasing. Do be careful not to smear your Nordic arse across the floor on your way out."

"Ha!" Fredrik guffawed as Auldan approached the counter with his own purchases, an armful of blue and green robes. "Hurry up and pay for that, wizard. She's got a mouth on her stronger than Ulfric's."

"Classy." Auldan deposited his clothes on the counter. "I'd like both of these, please. And do you have a changing room?"

And so they left in their new attire and wandered back towards the Winking Skeever, Auldan happily admiring his peacock-blue robes and Fredrik grumpily tolerating his itchy party clothes; it felt like a rat was gnawing on his collar, and he scratched his neck irritably, praying he wasn't allergic to whatever godforsaken elven fabric this was. "How long do I have to wear this?"

"Until we sneak out the back door with the Thalmor documents and get in our escape carriage," Auldan said. "Assuming things go according to plan and we don't get captured and die in a torture chamber."

"Trying to be optimistic, are you?" Fredrik held open the door of the Winking Skeever for him. "Let's go see if that knife-eared freak is here yet."

"He's not a freak," Auldan said wearily as they entered. "And don't call him _knife-ears. _He's a Bosmer, a wood elf."

"Which is a fancy way of saying knife-ears." Fredrik surveyed the room, and spotted a Bosmer in the corner, sitting alone at a table and watching them warily. "Looks like our contact is here."

"Oh, good." Auldan headed over, and extended a friendly hand. "Auldan Metonius, at your service. And this is Fredrik Hammerskull. We're the people you were supposed to meet."

The Bosmer did not take his hand, instead sizing both of them up. "Really?" he said finally, as Auldan awkwardly dropped his hand. "You're who she picked? I hope she knows what she's doing."

"Hey," Fredrik started, but Auldan hastily placed a hand on his shoulder, their silent signal for, _just take it and move on. _Fredrik decided it wasn't worth it and clamped his mouth shut, but made a point of glaring at the Bosmer as they sat down at the elf's table and the wood elf kept talking.

"Here's the deal. I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you. Don't plan on bringing anything else in with you. The Thalmor take security very seriously." The Bosmer looked between them. "Understand? No funny business. No shenanigans. This will be your only chance to get into the party without making a fuss, and I'd prefer if you didn't drag me into your mess any further. I'm only doing this because Delphine told me to."

"We understand," Auldan said, as Fredrik glowered, enraged by the elf's attitude. He would let Alduin tear his throat out before he kowtowed and bowed to anyone, especially not a high-and-mighty Bosmer with an ego problem, but he knew they needed this man, so he held his tongue - for now. "We'll be careful not to involve you. What do you need us to do?"

"Give me what you can't live without, and I'll make sure to get it into the Embassy. The rest is up to you." The Bosmer sighed. "Please just don't screw it up. I have a lot riding on this. My life is at stake here, not just yours."

"I'll give you my wizard's robes," Auldan said, and set them down on the table. "Fredrik?"

"What?" Fredrik growled.

"Your swords and armor," Auldan said patiently. "Give them to him."

Fredrik glared at the elf for a moment longer. Then, muttering, he took his two huge swords and laid them carefully on the table on top of Auldan's robes, followed by his horned helmet and a messy pile of his steel armor. Then he put down two daggers and a short sword, and then an extra pair of gauntlets and boots. And then, as Auldan looked wearily at the Bosmer and mouthed _he's a Nord__, _he pulled a poisoned dagger out of his boot and dropped it onto the pile. "Plenty?" he asked, as the Bosmer raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Yes," the Bosmer said, sounding slightly impressed. He gathered up the Nord's armor and weapons. "That should be more than enough. Anything else from either of you?"

"I think so." Auldan looked at Fredrik wearily. "Unless you have anything else ridiculous to add?"

"Not that I'd trust him with," Fredrik said, and the wood elf rolled his eyes.

"Of course," he said, and stood up with a curt nod at them. "I'll see you at the party, then. Don't be late."

After he had left, Auldan gave Fredrik an exhausted look. "At least you didn't call him any atrocious racial slurs," he said. "That's honestly more than I was expecting from you."

"See? I can be polite," Fredrik said, and itched his collar again, grumbling. "Now let's find Delphine and get to this damn party before I lose my mind."

"All right. She promised to meet us at Katla's farm outside of town, to give us our invitations and send us off. Hopefully with a carriage, since Veela and Yorja don't do well with heights." Auldan rose from his chair, and Fredrik started to follow. "Can you handle a few more hours of elves sneering at you and calling you names, or will I have to go this one alone?"

"I can handle it," Fredrik muttered. Then, after a moment of thought, he amended himself: "Probably."

"Well, just try not to kill anyone and we'll call it good." Auldan held the door open for him as they left. "Although if everything goes horribly wrong, it'll be comforting to have our weapons around."

"Yes," Fredrik said, and grinned fiercely at the thought of sticking his sword in every Thalmor in the Embassy. "I can't wait."

"And since we're meeting on a farm," Auldan went on, as they headed out of town, "we might as well take care of the horses. They need some grooming and new shoes - poor Yorja is almost limping."

"Horseshoes?" Fredrik frowned. "Those will probably be expensive. We're not exactly swimming in money."

"Yes, but you don't want the horses to get a splinter or a nail in their foot, do you?"

"I mean, no, but -" Fredrik sighed. "Fine. As long as it's not too pricey."

"That's the spirit." Auldan clapped him on the back merrily. "I'll make you into an animal lover yet."

"Bah," Fredrik grumbled. "I don't even _like _horses." But he grudgingly followed Auldan as they trekked down to Katla's farm together, following the rolling landscape and watching rabbits and foxes dart around. "So where are we going after this? To Falkreath, to meet your brother?"

"I don't know yet," Auldan admitted. "At this point, I think it's best if we go wherever we're needed. Delphine can help us there."

"Or we can go to Windhelm," Fredrik teased. "To meet your _friend."_

Auldan blushed up to his ears. "Shut up."

"Oh, Marcurio," Fredrik said, and feigned fluttering his eyelashes. "Marcurio, you're so _strong _and _handsome. _Marcurio, come read this book and stand oh so _close _to me, Marcurio."

"I despise you," Auldan grumbled, as they neared the farm. "I despise you with every fiber of my -"

"Hey."

They both jumped, then realized the sudden voice had not come from a bandit or an assassin; rather, it was a little boy who stood staring at them, his broom frozen in his hands. Clearly he'd been sweeping the stables.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "It's late. The farm's closed."

"Sorry," Auldan said. "We're supposed to meet someone here. We don't mean to intrude."

The boy squinted, looking between them. "You're dressed really nice," he said. "You look like noblemen. Are you going somewhere fancy?"

"As a matter of fact, we are." Fredrik draped a friendly arm around Auldan's shoulders. "We're going to meet some nice Thalmor and have a little chat with them, aren't we, Auldan?"

"Yes," Auldan sighed, pointedly removing his arm. "A chat. That's exactly what we're doing."

"Well, as long as you don't touch anything or steal any horses." The boy went back to sweeping, suddenly looking forlorn. "Katla gets mad at me when people steal the horses."

"You can count on me," Fredrik said, and trotted off to find Delphine. However, Auldan lingered, looking at the sorrow in the boy's face; he suddenly sensed this child was miserable.

"Do you work here?" he asked. "Or live here?"

"Both," the boy said, reluctantly. "Katla takes care of me, as long as I earn my keep. I feed the horses, take care of the farm, do chores... all kinds of stuff. I'm a good worker."

Auldan frowned. "That's an awful lot of work. How old are you?"

"Seven and a half," the boy said.

_Gods above. _That seemed far too young for daily labor. "Is Katla good to you?" he asked, uncertainly. "Does she feed you, and give you a place to sleep?"

"Feeds me, mostly. But I sleep here, with the horses." The boy looked awkwardly at his shoes. "I don't like it. They're smelly."

Auldan softly knelt down, so he was at the boy's eye level. "What's your name?" he asked.

The boy looked back at him nervously. "Blaise," he said. "What's yours?"

"Auldan." He held out a hand, and the boy shook it; he noted with some dismay that the child's fingers were heavily calloused, covered with bleeding sores. "My friend over there is Fredrik."

Blaise looked uncertainly at Fredrik, then back at Auldan, and dropped his voice. "He looks scary."

"He looks scary," Auldan agreed, smiling. "But he's not so bad once you get to know him."

"Oh." Blaise smiled back. "Okay."

"Listen, Blaise," Auldan hesitated, debating what he wanted to say. "I'm on an important mission right now. I'm going to do something that might help to save Skyrim. But when I come back, I'll come and talk to you again, okay? Maybe I can figure out a way to get you away from here."

"Really?" The hope in the boy's eyes broke his heart. "You can do that?"

"Yes," Auldan said. "I might know somewhere that can take better care of you. I'll figure something out."

The boy beamed at him, and then stuck out a pinky. "You have to promise," he said. "Pinky swear that you'll come back."

"Pinky swear." Auldan solemnly locked pinkies with him. "I'll be back soon, okay? Back before you can say _Akatosh."_

"Okay," Blaise said, and watched him leave. He hesitated for a while longer, gazing after him and wondering; then he went back to sweeping.

Fredrik, meanwhile, was striking a pose for Delphine's approval, showing off his new party clothes. "How do I look? Fancy enough for you?"

She squinted at him for a while, sizing him up. "Define _fancy," _she said at last.

"Oh, come on." Fredrik flashed a flirtatious grin. "You have to admit, I do clean up nice."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." Delphine took out two envelopes, made of an embossed, silky material. "Now, my forger took a while to get these, but here they are. Your name is spelled with a _k, _right?"

"Er... sure." Fredrik had no idea. "I guess it would be."

"And you know how to dance, and eat with silverware, and talk about international politics, correct?"

"Come again?" Fredrik blinked. "No one told me I'd have to do that."

"Well, it will help you fit in if you... never mind, look who I'm talking to. Just try to let Auldan handle the dinner conversation, okay?" Delphine shook her head as she double-checked the invitations. "You two are such a strange pair. I have no idea how you two decided to travel together in the first place."

"We get that a lot." Fredrik grinned, enjoying himself now. "And just so you know, I'm the handsome one, if you haven't noticed."

Delphine sighed. "I'm beginning to regret my trust in you," she said, and held out the envelopes with an air of obvious reluctance. "Now keep these safe, because you won't even get close to the Embassy without them. Can I trust you not to get your grubby hands all over the invitations, or should I give them to Auldan instead?"

"My good lady," Fredrik said, feigning great offense as he took the envelopes and tucked them into his shirt. "You _wound _me."

"Ha, ha." She motioned impatiently to the carriage. "Get your ass in the cart before I change my mind about letting you do this."

"Fine," Fredrik groused, and clambered noisily into the cart; it swayed a little under his weight, and the horses whinnied in alarm as he settled into the benches with a satisfied sigh. "Where did Auldan go off to, anyway? He's supposed to be the timely one."

"Here." Auldan appeared and climbed into the carriage beside him, hunkering down across from him and opening a spellbook. "I was just talking to that stable boy. The poor kid gets worked to death."

"Well, it's not our problem," Fredrik said, and was surprised by Auldan's scandalized look. "What?"

"Of course it's our problem," Auldan said angrily. "We're the heroes of Skyrim. The good guys. If a child is being abused, it's our duty to help however we can."

"Yes, but aren't dragons and elven world domination _slightly _more important?" Delphine cut in politely. "You can worry about the smallfolk later. You two have a job to do."

Auldan shut his mouth, but glowered silently as Delphine paid the driver and the carriage set off. Fredrik grinned. "You know," he said, as the carriage clattered down the road and Solitude slid out of sight, "this is the first time I've ever seen you _sulking _before."

"I'm not sulking," Auldan muttered.

"Yes you are." Fredrik frowned, suddenly realizing just how strangely the Breton was acting; he couldn't remember the last time Auldan had behaved this way, irritable and miserable and bitingly sarcastic. It made him worry, much as he hated to admit it. "Come on, something's been eating you since we got here," he said, trying to hide his concern. "The way you acted at the execution, and now this - you're obviously upset about something. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing." The wizard stared at his boots. "Forget it."

"No, tell me."

"Just _forget it," _Auldan snapped. "I'm fine."

Fredrik's brow knitted. Okay, something was definitely wrong. "Are you sad?" he hazarded, trying not to agitate the wizard any further. "Did something bad happen?"

"No."

"Well, did someone piss you off? Are you angry?"

"Stop it. It's fine."

"I'll stop asking when you stop acting like you've got a skeever up your ass." Fredrik folded his arms resolutely. "I won't leave you alone. Spill it. What's going on?"

Auldan heaved a sigh. "That execution," he said, reluctantly. "It reminded me -"

"What?"

"Never mind. Nothing." Auldan chewed his lip. "Let's just go to the damn party and get it over with."

Fredrik watched him thoughtfully. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I know." But Auldan kicked at a stone on the floor of the carriage, clearly reluctant to elaborate.

Fredrik debated for a moment. "The first time I saw an execution," he said at length, "my father took me. My mother didn't want me to see it, but he insisted I had to watch. It would toughen me up, he said."

Auldan looked up uncertainly.

"It was some criminal," Fredrik went on, not really knowing if this was helping Auldan or not. "Some thief who had gotten caught with his fingers in the jewelry box. I don't remember her name. But the executioner read her sentence and lifted the axe, and I tried to hide my face in my father's shirt, because I was scared. You know how scary that is, for a little kid to see a woman about to lose her head?"

"How old were you?"

"Don't remember. Pretty young. Probably four, or five."

Auldan's eyes widened. "You must have been traumatized," he said.

"Yeah, well, that's the Nordic way. Making us strong, and all. But when he chopped her head off I had nightmares for weeks afterward. I could see that executioner in my dreams." Fredrik shrugged. "I'm desensitized to it now. Watched plenty of killings since then, and I haven't had a bad dream since. But I still think about that poor woman sometimes. Hope she's stealing some fat bloke's dinner in Sovngarde."

Auldan stared at the floor. "It's different," he said. "When we're killing to survive, or killing in self-defense, that's one thing. But when someone's about to cut a head off, and there's a crowd of people all cheering them on..." He shivered. "Feels wrong, somehow. It feels evil."

"It's the way they do it," Fredrik said. "Just the way things are. I don't see anything wrong with it. But then again, I never grew up knowing different."

They were quiet for a while, listening to the rattle of the carriage wheels on the cobblestone.

"When I first ran away from home," Auldan said softly, "after - after the whole mess with my sister... I was young, and I was still a vampire. I hadn't met Falion yet, and I knew I had to lie low and keep myself hidden while I looked for someone who could cure me. So I tried to sneak across the border into Skyrim."

Fredrik stared, surprised. "Did you get caught?"

"Yes," Auldan said, reluctantly. "I was caught by a border patrol, and they - they saw what I was. They tied me up, gagged me, and threw me into a cart with a bunch of other criminals and lowlifes. I was sentenced to die with them on the spot."

"Holy shit," Fredrik said. Auldan had never told him this before. He tried to keep his voice casual, hoping to prod him for more details. "What happened next?"

"They carted me over to Riverwood, and put the other prisoners to the death, one by one." Auldan's voice trembled. "I stood and watched as each person in the line got their heads chopped off, one by one, as casually as you might kill an insect. One by one, right up to me."

Fredrik's heart stuttered. _Holy fuck. _No wonder the man had been traumatized against executions.

"Then it was my turn." Auldan's hands trembled slightly as he studied the hills and mountains outside the cart, clearly pretending that telling this story was not affecting him. "They put my head down on the block, and the executioner raised his axe, and I resigned myself to die alone and unloved, and then -"

"And then what?" Fredrik couldn't help but badger him. "How did you escape?"

"Someone yelled for them to stop. It was a man. He went up to the guards and talked them into releasing me, even though I was a night creature. He took me in, gave me a place to stay, and told me about Falion and his cure for vampirism. He saved my life." Auldan smiled slightly. "That was how I met Ralof. And it was also how I decided to stay in Riverwood, at least for a while. If he hadn't been there, I would have died on the block."

Fredrik chuckled. "Guess Ralof really is a good man, huh?"

"Yes. He's a great man. We've been friends ever since." Auldan fiddled awkwardly with a loose thread on his robes. "But, well. I could never watch an execution again."

"I understand now. I'm sorry for making fun of you about it." Fredrik didn't apologize to anybody often, but when he did, he made sure he meant it. Auldan looked up, clearly startled by the sincerity in his voice.

"I think that's the second time in our entire adventure that you've said the word _sorry," _he said.

Fredrik grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, you know me. Mister Stubborn Nord, and all."

He expected Auldan to tease him about it, but instead Auldan scooted closer and leaned against his side, opening his spellbook again and kicking his feet up on the bench; Fredrik draped an arm around him, and they sat together for a while, relaxing and watching the grey, snow-covered hills roll by.

_My blood-brother, _he thought after a while, and glanced over to find that Auldan was dozing off; the wizard's head was drooping. Fredrik gently closed the book for him and set it down, then wrapped Auldan in his bear fur cloak to keep him warm, laying him gently down on the bench so he could sleep. He kept watch for the rest of the way as Auldan rested, just in case any wolves or spriggans decided to get brave.

Of course, by the time the carriage clattered up to the mountains and was slowing to a stop, Fredrik's own eyes were drooping; he hadn't slept much the night before, so when the carriage driver rapped sharply on the wood and barked, "This is your stop!" he jerked awake with a grunt of alarm.

"Whuzzgoinon?" he said drowsily, and then noticed the impatient Thalmor soldier waiting for them. "Oh. Right. Elves." With an exaggerated groan, he clambered down from the cart and held out his invitation. "We're both expected. Let us in."

The Thalmor stared at him for a moment, then delicately reached out and plucked the invitation from his hands, as though trying to avoid picking up some disease. "Right," she said, and opened the invitation to check his name. "Fred-rik... Hammerskull?"

"Yes, that's me." Fredrik stepped back to help a sleepy Auldan climb down from the cart beside him. "And here's my friend Auldan. He's got an invitation, too."

"I see." The Thalmor raised a polite eyebrow, looking between them. "I don't recognize either of you. Where do you hail from?"

"Er -" Fredrik started, but Auldan elbowed him in the ribs to cut him off.

"We're really in a hurry to get into the party," he said. "We don't have time to chat."

"Oh, of course. I would never intrude." But the Thalmor eyed them warily. "Go right in, then. _Sirs."_

"Thank you." Auldan tugged on Fredrik's arm, and the two walked up the stone stairs to the front door as gracefully as they could manage. The moment they were up the stairs and out of earshot, Auldan hissed, "You could have given us away. Didn't Delphine tell you to let me do the talking?"

"You're no fun," Fredrik muttered, but stayed obediently silent as Auldan pushed open the door and they entered the Thalmor Embassy.

They were greeted by a glowing aura of candlelight and a rush of conversation, the clattering of wineglasses evident; clearly the drinking had begun early, and Thalmor moved through the crowds easily, conversing with everyone. Fredrik picked out a few familiar faces at once, including Idgrod Ravencrone, the Jarl of Morthal who had given them their horses. He nudged Auldan. "Idgrod's here," he whispered.

"Yes, I see her." Auldan went still as a tall, slender Thalmor woman approached them. "Fredrik, act natural. Here comes the hostess."

"What -"

"Welcome!" the Thalmor said, sleekly. She surveyed them with a quick, penetrating gaze, her eyes seeming to take in every detail at once. "I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are?"

Auldan started to respond, but Fredrik cut him off, stretching and saying loudly, "Quite a party! You could fit the whole of Sovngarde in here! Say, where can a Nord get a drink?"

Elenwen raised an amused eyebrow, in a way that Fredrik was beginning to think was distinct to the Thalmor and their brand of polite superiority. "Don't worry. My parties are always well-stocked with the finest food and drink available in this country. But first, you were introducing yourself?"

"Well," Fredrik said uncertainly, but then they both heard a familiar voice.

"Madame Ambassador." It was the Bosmer, calling out from behind the drinks counter; clearly he was the bartender at the party, which Fredrik supposed would explain how he was able to smuggle their equipment inside. "I'm so sorry to interrupt. Could I have a moment of your time?"

"What is it, Malborn?" Elenwen said, with a faint air of impatience. "Speak."

"It's just that we've run out of the Alto wine. Do I have your permission to unlock the Arenthia red, or shall I -"

"Of course," Elenwen snapped, before he could finish. "Open whatever you like. I've told you before not to bother me with such trifles."

"Yes, Madame Ambassador." The Bosmer - _Malborn, apparently, _Fredrik mused - meekly bowed his head and went back to uncorking bottles and serving drinks. Elenwen returned her attention to Fredrik and Auldan, reluctantly.

"My apologies," she said. "We'll have to get better acquainted later. Please, enjoy yourself."

She flounced off, and both Auldan and Fredrik exhaled. "That was close," Auldan muttered, and looked over at Malborn. "Let's go talk to our friend and see if he has our gear."

"_Friend _is a strong word," Fredrik said, but followed Auldan over anyway. Malborn looked up from his tasks and nodded curtly at them.

"Welcome," he said. "What can I get for you?" Then, in a lower tone, "You made it in. Good. As soon as you distract the guards, I'll open this door and we can get you on your way."

"Distraction?" Fredrik grinned. "I like where this is going."

"Of course," Malborn said loudly. "Let me see if we have another bottle of that." He headed towards the back room, and Fredrik, sensing his cue, turned eagerly to Auldan.

"Can I do it?" he said hopefully. "Please? Pretty please?"

Auldan exhaled. "Fine," he said. "Just don't be too -"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, IDGROD?" Fredrik thundered, and the entire party skidded to a halt; all eyes turned to him and Idgrod, who stared at him for a moment, puzzled, and then seemed to catch on to the game and gave a dramatic gasp.

"Why, I don't know what on earth you're talking about!" she protested, with an amused look at Auldan, who mouthed back, _Thank you_. "Whatever could this gallumphing Nord be on about?"

"YOU KNOW WHAT!" Fredrik bellowed, and stormed towards her with exaggerated fury; Idgrod feigned alarm and rushed to hide behind one of the Thalmor guards, who scrambled to raise his weapon threateningly. As the guard tried to restore order, Malborn quietly opened the back door, and Auldan slipped inside. "You slept with my BROTHER, you dirty hag! I'll strangle you!"

"Oh, come now!" Idgrod retorted. "He wasn't even that impressive! I would rather have slept with your _mother!"_

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Fredrik roared, and seized the Thalmor guard by his armor in a mock-attempt to get at Idgrod; and the resulting massive bar fight was invisible to Auldan, who was hiding in the back room, but judging from the loud crashing and bellowing it was not going in the Nord's favor. He suppressed a smile as he waited for the chaos to die down, and then Malborn exited and came back dragging a woozy Fredrik into the back room to join Auldan, calling, "Don't worry, I'll patch him up!"

"You're an idiot," Auldan said, as Malborn plopped Fredrik unceremoniously down on the floor and shut the back door to hide them from view. "You could have gotten yourself killed."

Fredrik beamed. "That was the most fun I've had in ages," he said enthusiastically, as Malborn grumbled about the plan being ruined and started to bandage the Nord's bloody knuckles. "I whacked a Thalmor right in the jaw! It was _fantastic!"_

"I'm sure it was." Auldan sighed and reached to heal a cut on Fredrik's face. "But then again, I've come to anticipate nothing less from you. Hold still."

"Good old Idgrod," Fredrik said happily, as Auldan healed his gash and probed his jaw to make sure it wasn't broken; he was still relishing the high of punching an elf's teeth out, so much so that he didn't even mind when Malborn audibly grumbled about how stupid he was. "She really came through for us. We'll have to pay her back sometime."

Auldan let go of his face, shaking his head. "Well, since our initial stealth plan is now completely ruined, I guess we have to be more careful when we're sneaking around. Malborn, where's our gear?"

"Right here." Malborn opened a box of onions and pulled out their armor, and Fredrik made a face when he sniffed his once-pristine equipment; it smelled like garlic and spices.

"They're going to _smell _me, not hear me," he complained. "Couldn't you have been a little more delicate with the transport?"

"Hey, you wanted your armor and weapons. Take them or leave them." Malborn gave Auldan his robes back, then dug out all of Fredrik's assorted daggers and swords, handing them back one at a time. "Now I have to get back to the party, but I'll open the door into the rest of the Embassy for you. Keep low, try to find out what you can. Look for any important documents. And whatever you do, don't let anyone spot you. Understand?"

"We'll be fine," Fredrik said, strapping on his armor and shooting Auldan a broad grin. "Right?"

"Of course." Auldan gave him a deeply exasperated look as he buttoned up his robes. "Even if you're a massive imbecile with an addiction to violence, you are pretty good at sneaking around."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Fredrik checked to make sure he hadn't missed any buckles, dusted the garlic powder off his boots, and then drew his daggers with a practiced flourish. He hadn't used small weapons in a long time, and he was dying to give them a try. "Come on, wizard, let's see what we can dig up on these Thalmor goons. I bet they've got all kinds of valuables in their hidey-holes."

"Keep low," Auldan emphasized, as Fredrik started to stomp towards the door. "Remember how we're supposed to be _hiding _from the elves?"

Fredrik winked and spun one of his daggers expertly in his hand. "See," he said, as he opened the door and slipped deftly inside, "I'm a veteran of the Thieves' Guild. We have an alternate meaning of the word _hide."_

He enjoyed hearing Auldan's heavy sigh as he started the slow, methodical journey through the halls of the Thalmor Embassy. Sometimes he just liked to make his wizard suffer.


	13. XIII: Folaas Bo, Wrong Move

_A/N: Bit of a short chapter this time, but hopefully you'll forgive me for wanting to end this one the way I did. I'll simply say that in some ways, Fredrik's father is inspired by my own. Merry Christmas, everyone!_

* * *

More than anything else in the world, Fredrik loved sneaking around. Ever since he was a child, he'd enjoyed swiping sweetrolls and honey tarts from market stalls and fleeing with guards in hot pursuit, and as he got older, that had evolved into slipping into windows, swimming through sewers, poisoning mead, and setting beehives on fire for the Thieves' Guild. _Good times, _he thought with a smile. He did miss the old days once in a while.

Now, of course, things were different. He was still doing the wrong thing, of course - he wouldn't be himself if that wasn't the case - but this time it was for the right reasons. Probably. That was what he told himself, anyway.

He dropped to a crouch as he neared the first doorway on the left, hearing sleek, albeit slightly drunk Thalmor voices from inside. "Did you see those robes march in this morning?" someone said. "Who're they with? More of the Emissary's treaty enforcers?"

"No," said another man. "They're high mages, just in from Alinor. I guess Herself is finally getting worried about all the dragon attacks."

There was another doorway on the right, and Fredrik tiptoed inside, still listening to the elves' conversation as he silently rummaged through vases, bookcases and chests in search of something shiny to steal.

"Ah, good," the first guard said, a bit boozily. "I've been wondering how we were supposed to defend this place from a dragon."

"If a dragon does show up, maybe we'll get lucky and it will eat the mages first. Might give us enough time to kill it," the second guard said, and both of them laughed. Fredrik rolled his eyes. _Stupid elves. _They always thought they were so clever, didn't they?

He scanned the room one last time, finding nothing of interest, and then tiptoed back out. The only way now was through those guards - but Auldan had told him not to kill anyone, which meant he'd have to figure out a way to distract them so he could sneak past. He hunkered down by the doorway to ponder his options. There were some vases on a nearby shelf that he could throw; maybe that would buy him some time? But they'd figure out where the projectile came from and find him, even if they were thick as stones and drunk on elven mead. He needed to come up with a better plan.

"I'd like to see those arrogant bastards taken down a notch," the first guard muttered. "Always looking down their noses at us lowly footsloggers."

"Don't I know it." The second guard yawned. "Well, we'd better get back to the rounds. I'll fall asleep if we drink any more."

Fredrik listened as their footsteps wandered off and out of the room, and figured now was probably his chance. He slipped soundlessly into the room and crept past shelves of mead, and then froze, seeing that one of the guards had lingered in the mouth of a hallway at the end of the room. The guard yawned, checked his weapon, and then meandered out of sight.

_Close call, _Fredrik thought, and held his breath as he tiptoed after him, trying not to bump anything or step on a loose stone. Thankfully the floors were made of layered cobble, not wood that could squeak, but there was still reason to fear a stray sound or a rolling pebble.

Further down the hallway he went, following the guard's slightly unsteady, drunken footsteps and listening closely to make sure the man wasn't about to turn around and spot him. He was good at this, he thought with a sense of fierce pride; he hadn't really gotten to flex his stealth muscles in a long time, and he'd begun to fear he had lost his touch. Not so. The elves hadn't even realized he was here. _I've still got it__, _he thought with a rush of satisfaction. When all this Dragonborn business was over, he really should get back to some good thieving now and then.

He stopped dead then, hearing the Thalmor stop. There was a loud clattering sound as the elf turned a key in a lock, and then stepped through a door. The hallway was silent now - the coast was clear.

He kept moving, a bit less carefully now that the guard was gone. A few more steps and he was at a broad set of double doors, and he could hear howling wind outside - these must lead out into a courtyard of some kind, or a garden. Only one way to find out. He gingerly pushed the doors open and slipped out, quiet as a ghost.

He stepped out into a wide, rectangular courtyard; there were a few Thalmor mages patrolling in the center. Quietly he slipped around the perimeter, snuck into a door on the other side - still unseen, perfectly unnoticed, like a phantom. But now he was beginning to get impatient. Where on Tiber Septim's green earth was he supposed to go next? Where were these important Thalmor documents he was supposed to be stealing?

He got his answer as he entered, and a high, reedy voice rang out, nearly startling him into revealing himself: "But I need that money! I earned it!"

Fredrik reacted fast, plastering himself against a nearby pillar and listening to two sets of footsteps entering the room. The high voice went on:

"I have my own expenses, you know. I have -"

"Silence!" snapped a Thalmor voice, precise and elegant. "Do not presume, Gissur. You are most useful, but do not presume. We have more informants who are less... offensive."

"But no one else has brought you such valuable information, have they?" Gissur, whoever he was, sounded hopeful. "I'm more important than any other _informant, _admit it!"

"No," the Thalmor said, delicately. "You are not."

Gissur sighed deeply. "Etienne," he said. "He's talked, hasn't he? He knows where that old man you're looking for is, he told me himself."

Fredrik's heart skipped a beat. _Etienne? _He knew the man from his Thieves' Guild days. It must be Etienne Rarnis, a wily Breton thief with quick fingers and a mealy mouth; they'd gone on a few heists together, and although he hadn't been Fredrik's favorite accomplice, he never complained and always did his job. If he'd been captured by the Thalmor... well...

_Poor bloke,_ he thought sadly._ They've probably torn his fingers and toes off by now._

He dearly hoped the man wasn't being tortured, like most of those damn elves did to their prisoners. He'd been fond of the kid, in the old times. Maybe if he had the chance to rescue him, to sneak down to the dungeons... Auldan didn't have to know, did he? It wouldn't take very long. He turned his eyes to the hallway where the Thalmor was walking, and wondered if he could sneak a quick peek.

Meanwhile, the Thalmor kept talking, in a bored, distinctly unimpressed voice. "You'll get your money when he's told the rest of his story, as agreed."

"So he has talked! I knew it!"

"Everyone talks, in the end," the Thalmor said flatly. "Now, I have work to do. Leave me to it, if you ever want to see the rest of your payment."

Gissur trailed after the Thalmor as they exited the room, clearly struggling to win his approval. "I could help you. He'd talk to me. He trusts me."

"You'd like to come downstairs with me, is that it, Gissur? Shall we loose his bonds and put you in a cell together?" The Thalmor's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You can ask him anything you like and see how he answers. Would you like that?"

"No," Gissur said, in a tiny, pitiful voice. "No, I'll wait outside."

They left, and Fredrik exhaled, relieved that he hadn't been spotted. He peeled himself off the pillar, mulling over this new information - who were the Thalmor looking for? _Some old man. Probably no one important. _He tiptoed down the short hallway and found himself standing before the dungeon door. Quickly, he slipped out his lockpicking tools, cracked the lock, and opened it. And fast as a skeever, he was inside. It would only take a second, he told himself firmly. Just to save a friend.

And there he found the torture chambers.

It was a wide room, with him crouching on the second story; and below him lay the jail cells, and they were not pretty. Chains, whips, tools, cruel-looking knives and blades hung on the walls, ready for "interrogating" prisoners. And in a small cell, huddled into the corner, naked and shivering, was Etienne, bleeding and covered in wounds. He looked like he'd been beaten and torn at for days now.

_Fucking hell, _Fredrik thought, as anger boiled up inside of him. _Look what those damn elves did to him. I'll kill them all._

But as he started to creep down the stairs, the Thalmor who had been speaking to Gissur entered the room with a guard in tow, and Fredrik froze, watching as the two elves glided gracefully to Etienne's cell. The first elf stood back a polite distance as the second opened it. Etienne lifted his head and coughed, a string of blood dripping from his mouth. "Stop," he managed. "Please. I don't know anything else."

"Let's begin again," the Thalmor said smoothly, as the guard cracked his knuckles. "What can you tell us about the old man?"

"No..." Etienne croaked, as Fredrik tiptoed down the stairs. "For pity's sake... I've already told you everything..."

"At the beginning," the Thalmor said, in a sleek, pitiless voice. "If you please."

"The old man," Etienne whispered - his sunken, bloodshot eyes turned, and he spotted Fredrik sneaking towards the guards, daggers in hand. His eyes went wide, and Fredrik winked at him playfully, then lifted a finger to his lips. _Shhhh._

"Tell us," the Thalmor said, threateningly. His back was turned, and he didn't see Fredrik lift his daggers, aiming for his head. "Or I'll have my friend here beat it out of you."

"He lives in Riften," Etienne said, a smile spreading across his face as he watched Fredrik edge closer, ready for the kill. He recognized his old friend now. "No, actually - he lives in Candy-Cane Forest, and he dances with the elves every night. And I think he wears pink."

"Ridiculous!" the Thalmor hissed, but as he started to motion to the guard, Fredrik acted - in one quick motion he lifted the daggers and slit the elf's throat. The elf choked and coughed blood, then fell, even as the guard whirled and drew his weapon. Fredrik deftly plunged his dagger into the guard's stomach, and the guard flailed helplessly for a moment, then dropped like a stone.

Etienne laughed with relief as Fredrik dusted his hands off proudly. "Should have known old Blue Eyes would come to save me. What kept you, old friend?"

"Business, my good man. Business." Fredrik plucked a key off the Thalmor's body, then unlocked Etienne's chains; the Breton gasped with relief, then sagged limply to the ground, clearly spent.

"Ow," he said, pitifully. Fredrik chuckled.

"Need a hand?"

"Please," Etienne said gratefully. Fredrik grinned and hoisted him up, and helped him regain his footing; the Breton stumbled a bit, obviously unused to his legs after being forced to crouch on the cell floor for so long. "Damn. Those elves did a number on me."

"Easy there. You're hurt." Fredrik helped him limp slowly out of the cell. "I would help you get out of here, but I've got an errand to run. I'm supposed to be here gathering intel on the Thalmor. You know anything about their association with the dragons?"

"Not really," Etienne admitted. "All I know is that they're looking for some old man in Riften. Some guy named Esbern."

"Esbern," Fredrik mused. The name didn't sound familiar. "I'll have to tell Auldan that. Do you know anything else?"

"No. Sorry." Etienne grimaced. "But if you're looking for an exit, I think I saw a trapdoor somewhere in the back. It might lead to a shortcut out of here. And there's a chest by the guard's station that could hold some information."

"Perfect. You go down there, and I'll stay here and see what I can find." Fredrik helped him walk slowly over to the trapdoor, and held it open so Etienne could awkwardly crawl inside. "Stay right here. I'll come back for you."

"Please do," Etienne said pitifully, as Fredrik closed the trapdoor on top of him.

Fredrik looked briefly around the torture chamber, to make sure no one else was around; then he moved to the guard's table and deftly popped open his chest. Sure enough, there were books and dossiers inside. He took one out at random and cracked it open, squinting uncertainly. He stared it for a while. Then he cursed.

"Fuck," he muttered, and closed the book, tucking it into his shirt. He really needed to get Auldan to teach him how to read.

But the dossiers seemed important, given how much security had gone into hiding them down here, so he took as many as he could carry and then snuck back over to the trapdoor. Hopefully this would be enough to satisfy Delphine, and if he got out and circled back around, maybe he could find Auldan before -

"Listen up, spy!" A Thalmor soldier's sharp, crisp voice rang out, and the door on the second floor slammed. Fredrik immediately dove for cover, scrambling to hide behind the guard's desk and listening as heavy bootsteps descended the stairs. "You're trapped in here, and we have your accomplice. Surrender immediately or you both die."

"Never mind," Malborn's familiar voice grumbled, and Fredrik sighed in dismay, realizing that it was all over; the Bosmer had been caught. "I'm dead already. Just kill me and be done with it."

"Silence, traitor!" the Thalmor guard snapped. "Move. Slowly."

_Well_, Fredrik thought wearily, as he heard the guards leading the Bosmer towards a cell, _at least if the Bosmer dies, it's no great loss. _He hadn't really liked the elf much anyway.

But wait. Fredrik's heart suddenly juttered as he realized that the guard had said something else: "we have your accomplice." Did that mean...?

Oh, no. Oh, no. They might have Auldan.

He screwed his eyes shut in horror as the guard spoke again, with a suspicious edge in his voice: "Wait. Where did that human go? Didn't we have him in here?"

"Bodies," another guard said. "Someone's broken the boy out. And they killed Rulindil."

"Oh, they will pay for this," the guard snarled. "And you'll pay first, you dirty Bosmer sneak!"

There was the screeching metal sound of a weapon being drawn, and Fredrik grimaced - he knew that if he didn't act fast, the Bosmer would die at their hands. He looked at the two daggers at his belt, already stained with dark stripes of Thalmor blood, and weighed his options for a moment. Then he sighed. Of course he had to do the right thing.

_Why do I always have to be the hero? _he wondered as he rose from his hiding place, drew his twin daggers with a quick, practiced flourish, and stomped towards the guards. "Oi!" he barked, and the two Thalmor whirled in surprise, forgetting Malborn entirely. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The first Thalmor guard charged. Fredrik met him head-on, slamming his dagger straight into his left eye socket with graceful efficiency; the elf screamed and clutched his head as Fredrik lifted his other dagger and plunged it up to the hilt in the elf's gut. The man clawed at him feebly as he died, and Fredrik turned just in time to meet the other guard's sword with a clash of metal that nearly deafened him.

"Pathetic," he teased, as the elf staggered dazedly back. "You pointy-ears can hardly raise a sword, can you?"

"You are an inferior maggot," the elf spat back. "Every single one of you will die. The wheel of the Thalmor will crush you."

"Well, guess what?" Fredrik flipped his dagger in his hand, unable to help the theatrics, and then hurled it straight into the elf's head, piercing his brain; the elf flopped over, the lights gone out in an instant. "This maggot has a knife," he smirked, and went to retrieve his weapon.

Malborn glared at him as he placidly cleaned elf brains off the blade. "Are you finished showing off yet? Because the Thalmor will be hunting us for the rest of our lives now. I hope it was worth it."

"It was." Fredrik straightened up, tucked away his daggers, then patted his chest, where the dossiers were safely hidden. "I've got the info we need. At least, I think I do." Then, remembering, "Where's Auldan? Did those fuckers get him too?"

"I don't know," Malborn said irritably. "I wasn't following him. What does it matter? We have to get out of here."

"It matters to me," Fredrik said angrily. "Tell me where he is. I've got to find him before I leave."

"Why is he so important to you, anyway?"

"Because he's my friend, you pointy-eared -" Fredrik caught himself before he could say a slur, remembering that Auldan had told him to avoid racial remarks. "- asshole," he amended himself.

Malborn glowered at him. "I can't believe I let Delphine talk me into this," he said. "I haven't seen your friend. He decided to follow you, and I haven't seen him since. You'll have to go find him yourself if he means so _much _to you. I, for one, am leaving."

"Suit yourself," Fredrik said. "The trapdoor's over there." He tossed Malborn the key. "Now take this and get out of my fucking sight."

Malborn snatched the key and stamped off towards the exit, snarling Nordic slurs under his breath. Fredrik patiently waited until he heard the _thump _of the trapdoor open and close, then set off to find his friend, thinking wearily that he really had grown attached to his wizard.

It was funny, he thought as he made his slow way back up the stairs and out of the dungeon. Despite all his bravado and bluster, he'd always privately assumed that Auldan, in his own way, was the stronger one. Certainly the man had spells that could dazzle a dragon, and a better way with words, and a knack for finding things and solving puzzles and talking his way out of trouble. But when it came down to it, Fredrik was starting to realize that Auldan relied on him just as much as he did - for protection, for strength, for support. They really were a team, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. They fit together, like puzzle pieces.

Which was why, when he crept up the stairs from the dungeon door and back out into the Embassy halls, and his foot stepped on a plate that had been left on the floor and it broke with a loud _crack, _and four Thalmor guards looked up sharply from chatting in the hallway, and their eyes drilled into his and they drew their weapons, he realized that he was just going to have to break the promise he'd made to Auldan when they first arrived. He was going to have to kill his way out of this one.

But could he take four of them at once?

Of course he could. He'd done it before, and he could do it again. This_ isn't the end of Fredrik Hammerskull, _he thought grimly as he readied his daggers. _Not yet._

With a guttural bellow, he charged. He thrust his dagger into a Thalmor's throat, then yanked it out to hamstring the second, ducking under the swipe of a sword with a circus performer's agility. He was perfectly coordinated as he swept a leg down to break the knee of the elven swordsman to his left, then leaned back to avoid a dagger from the fourth. It was going so well -

\- but then his foot landed funny on a floorboard, a tiny misstep in his perfect battle routine. His leg went sideways, and his dodge was too slow, and the attacking Thalmor looked almost surprised as his dagger buried itself up to the hilt in Fredrik's chest.

For one perfect, frozen moment Fredrik felt no pain. He had one second to look down at himself and see the glinting, shining metal that was jutting out of his chest, and register that this was not supposed to happen. And then agony shot through him like cold ice, and he yelled and dropped to one knee as the Thalmor pulled the dagger out in a bright arc of blood. _His _blood.

"Stupid Nord," the elf said, as Fredrik clutched dazedly at his chest and tried to stem the pulse of crimson lifeblood from his body. "You should have dodged."

One wrong move. That was all it had taken. Fredrik pressed a hand to the wound, struggling to contain the bleeding even as his vision began to blur from blood loss. This was _not _supposed to happen. He struggled to rise, but his legs were going numb and refused to obey his brain's panicked commands; instead he fell back to his knees and sat there limply, like a broken toy, unable to move as the Thalmor stared down at him, expressionless.

"I don't have the stomach for this," the elf said coolly, and walked away. "Die then, if you must." His bootsteps clanked on the tiles as he left.

_Fuck, _Fredrik thought, as he screwed his eyes shut and mustered all his remaining strength. _Guess this is how I go. _It wasn't exactly the noble end he'd anticipated. But he wasn't going to give up yet.

"Get up," he hissed to himself. "Come on. Up. _Get up."_

He fought hard. He pushed against the ground and struggled, but could not rise; the pain in his body was too great, his head and trembling limbs wracked by waves of agony. No. This was not how he would die. Fuck it all, this wasn't going to be his end.

"I am a Nord," he growled, and planted one knee hard on the ground. "I'm a fucking, goddamn Nord. And _I will get up."_

But he couldn't; his foot slipped on the thickening pool of blood beneath his feet, and he fell back down with an angry growl. He could not get up. For the first time in his life, Fredrik Hammerskull, the Nord of Whiterun, Blue Eyes, Assassin of the Brotherhood, could not get up.

He stared up at the ceiling, and accepted that he was going to die. It was a kind of cold, silent realization, a frigid certainty that gripped his insides. He hadn't truly faced death in a long time - had not fully contemplated that his choices could have consequences. But here he was now, dying. And it was all his fault. It was _always _his fault. It was -

\- _his father kicked him in the knee, and he staggered, yelping in pain. "Pathetic!" the big man barked, as Fredrik wavered and clutched his throbbing leg. "If I can kick your legs out from under you, you're not truly in a battle stance. Again! Do it right this time!"_

_Fredrik tried again. He planted his feet, tightened his back and shoulders, and stood as firmly as he could, trying to make himself as big and strong as possible. But his father pushed him hard in the chest, and he fell and hit his back hard on the cobblestones, pain zinging up his spine like a bolt of lightning. He lay there, trembling, realizing he had failed._

_His father blew out a frustrated breath. "You'll never be a proper warrior if you can't stand your ground," he said. "Understand? Now get up."_

_Fredrik could not bring himself to rise. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold of the cobblestones leak into his back. He didn't want to do this anymore. Why couldn't he just give up?_

_"Don't give up!" his father snarled. "A true Nord never gives up! You'll get up if you know what's good for you!"_

_No, he didn't want to get up. He stared up at the cloudy grey skies of Whiterun, watching an eagle circle lazily through the heavens, and knew he could not do this anymore. He was sick of constantly trying and failing. There was no point._

_His father folded his arms. "Fine," he said. "You want to give up? Give up if you want to. Is that what you want?"_

_Fredrik did not move._

_"All right then. You choose defeat." His father's boots scraped quietly on the stones as he crossed the little training ground they'd made outside of town, and sat down on a tree stump, beside Fredrik's motionless form. Then, to Fredrik's surprise, he reached up and took off his horned helmet, and set it quietly down beside the stump. "I know what it's like, you know. To feel like you're never good enough, or not strong enough to do anything. Maybe that's part of why I always push you so hard."_

_Fredrik was silent._

_"When I was a boy," his father said, "we didn't have a lot of money, or a lot of food. Went hungry most nights. My father wouldn't work and drank all our gold, so my mother had to work in the inn for days at a time. Hardly a life for her, or me. I felt like I couldn't do anything, like I was helpless." He scratched a scar on his chin. "So when I got older, I told myself I'd always make sure my son was well-fed, and I'd train him up good to be strong and fierce and hardy, so he'd never have to worry about going hungry."_

_Fredrik said nothing, just stared at the clouds drifting silently overhead._

_"I know it's hard," his father said. "And maybe I work you too hard. And maybe I could go easier on you. But you've got to be tough, son, because this world is mean and cruel and it will kill everyone you love if you turn your back for one second. I know that, and someday you'll know that, too. But no matter how much life beats you down, you've always got to get back up. That's the lesson I'm trying to teach you. Understand?"_

_Fredrik did not reply._

_"Know this, boy." His father knelt down and looked Fredrik right in the eyes, and in that moment Fredrik felt an intensity from him like he'd never felt before. It felt as though he was staring into another Fredrik, in a different time, in a place he did not recognize. It felt as though he was looking every version of Fredrik, past and future, straight in the eyes._

_"You'll never do a damn thing," he said, "if you can't get up when life pushes you down."_

Fredrik gritted his teeth, and spat out blood. "No," he said, aloud. "I _always _get up."

He planted his other knee, then strained, pushing up with every drop of Nordic energy he had. Slowly, laboriously, he rose, clutching at the wall for support; his bloodstained hands left streaks on the walls as he stumbled unsteadily down the hallway and dragged his fingers along the stones to keep himself upright, leaving a scarlet, bloody trail in his wake. He was the son of Harlak Blood-Helm, damn it all, and he always got up. And as he staggered slowly through the halls of the Thalmor Embassy, he felt as though his father's ghost was following alongside him, keeping him steady, urging him on.

He was resolved to it now, this last task he had yet to complete. He would get to Auldan or he would die trying.


	14. XIV: Sos Vaat, Blood Vows

One step. Then another. And another, straining with every screaming muscle and every vein to place one foot in front of the other. Fredrik's vision had gone long ago, and he could not see, but he could feel the ground under his feet, and he used it to keep his struggling, painful pace as the agony wracked his body. He dragged himself forward step by step, bit by bit, piece by piece, bone by bone. He would make it. He would _make _it. Every fiber of his Nordic being was focused on this single, fatal mission of getting to Auldan before Arkay, Lord of Death, caught up to him.

_Get to Auldan, _he repeated to himself, as his body wailed for respite and the hot, frighteningly warm blood pulsing through the wound in his torso dripped through his armor and onto the floorboards with little sickening _plop_s. _Get to Auldan._

One more step. One more. Another one. His breath hissed out through clenched teeth as his fingers met a wall, and he paused, fighting to get his bearings. Where was he expecting to go? In this state he knew he couldn't get much farther, and he was still bleeding - leaving a bloody crimson trail in his wake, like snowberry juice. He'd been wounded before, but never like this.

His mind drifted as he forced himself to continue, scraping his fingernails painfully along the walls to stay upright. He remembered when Auldan had been injured like this, stabbed by that damn witch Alva in Morthal; he gritted his teeth at the memory, the ice-cold fear that he had been too late when he felt how cold the man's skin was. He'd had to carry his bleeding friend in his arms all the way to the healer, praying that he would get there in time, beseeching gods he didn't even believe in to save the life of his blood-brother.

_And now it's my turn to get stabbed, eh? _There was a bitter irony in it, and he tried to laugh, but coughed as blood stung his throat. Probably best to save his breath, before he got too greedy and ran out of it. He focused on moving ahead, pressing on through the seemingly endless, winding hallways of the Embassy and wondering dimly if the party was over yet, if the Thalmor had captured Auldan and were torturing him, if Delphine was starting to worry -

"Now, now, lads." A nervous, distinctly Imperial-sounding voice echoed through the hallway ahead, and Fredrik froze, realizing that there were two shadows heading his way. "Let's not be hasty here. I really think this is just one big misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" a Thalmor voice said, angrily. "You snuck into the party under false pretenses, made a fool of yourself and raided Herself's personal wine cabinet as a trophy. I truly fail to grasp how that is a misunderstanding on our part."

"_Raided _is such a strong word," the man wheedled. "I was just borrowing it."

"Silence! You are coming with me to the dungeons and you are not uttering another word, or so help me I will cut your tongue out."

Fredrik limped behind a pillar and pressed himself against the wall, wincing as this made his wound twinge in complaint; he could just barely make out the fuzzy shapes of a Thalmor and an orange-clad human as they rounded the corner and entered the hallway. It looked like the Thalmor was gripping the man's wrists to keep him from getting away, and the human was anxiously trying to explain himself to his captor. "Now, look, my entry into this party was hardly under false pretenses. I am a distinguished Imperial mage and a member of the College of Winterhold, so surely I wasn't that unwelcome."

"You would have been welcome," the Thalmor said pointedly, "if you hadn't given your name to the invitation checker as His Distinguished Monsieur Long-Sword."

"True," the man allowed, cheekily. "But it was funny, wasn't it?"

"You seem to think you are some kind of comedian. I think our information chambers will put a stop to that." The Thalmor stopped dead then. "What is this?" he said, incredulously, and Fredrik watched uncomfortably as he knelt down to stare at the messy, spattered blood trail Fredrik had left behind. "Is somebody injured? Perhaps we have another intruder -"

"Ha!" In a flash, the Imperial man ripped his hands free of his bonds and blasted the Thalmor with a fire spell, sending him flying down the hallway; Fredrik watched in amazement as the Thalmor slammed into the opposite wall and sank down in a crumpled heap. He hadn't seen such impressive destruction magic since Auldan had blasted a horde of draugr soldiers to ashes in Ustengrav.

"Gods above," he said, and the Imperial man jumped in surprise.

"Oh! You startled me. Are you - oh, gods, look at you. What happened to you?" The man rushed to grab his shoulder, helping him stand, and Fredrik leaned heavily on him for support, unable to stay upright any longer; he suddenly realized the man sounded familiar, but in his half-blind, confused state he could not recognize him. "Oof - okay, lean on me, it's going to be all right. How did it happen?"

"Thalmor stabbed me." Fredrik winced; he was fading from consciousness now. "Fuck. I'm losing it. Have you seen a Breton in blue party robes around here?"

"Blue robes..." The Imperial mage frowned as he thought. "No, I don't remember. I just snuck in through the front door, stole some booze, and got nabbed by the guards on my way out of the room of Whatever-Her-Name-Is. I haven't gotten very far into this place, or talked to any guests."

"Shit." Fredrik couldn't think straight anymore; he'd lost so much blood that coherency was fleeing him. "If you - if you find him. Tell him he needs to get out..."

"Oh, hell, you're not looking so good." The Imperial adjusted his grip and carefully laid him down on the floor, grunting under the strain. "Akatosh, you're heavy. Lay right there. I know a healing spell from my College days."

"Please hurry," Fredrik rasped, as the mage frantically undid the clasps of his armor and pressed a hand to his chest. He closed his eyes as the familiar warmth of healing magic rushed through him, filling his veins like honey; it didn't do much to help the spinning in his head or the faintness in his limbs, but when he opened his eyes, he realized he'd been pulled from Arkay's doorstep, at least for a little while.

"That should hold you," the mage said, worriedly, as Fredrik sat up slowly and groaned in pain. "But you need a real healer. Can you walk a little farther?"

"Have to find him first." Fredrik wavered, then pushed himself up and staggered down the hallway, moving as slowly and clumsily as a draugr. The Imperial hastened to follow him, clearly alarmed.

"Hey, hey, not so fast. You're still bleeding -"

"Where did he go? I have to find him."

"Find who?" the mage asked, and Fredrik looked at him and finally recognized the orange adept robes, copper skin and tiny scruff of a beard.

"Marcurio," he said, wearily. "Ah, fuck."

"You know my name?" Marcurio stared at him for a moment, and then gasped. "Oh, my gods, why didn't I recognize you? You're Fredrik! I met you after you slayed that dragon back in Kynesgrove - but that means -"

"Auldan," Fredrik said, and Marcurio's face lit up.

"He's here?" The joy in his face was quickly replaced by worry. "Oh, shit, he's here. Where is he? I have to make sure he's all right -"

_"You_ have to?" Fredrik said, amused, and Marcurio blushed fiercely.

"I mean, _we_ have to make sure he's all right," he amended, sheepishly. "Both of us, obviously. Where did you leave him last?"

"We snuck in through the pantry and headed different ways. I don't know where he is. That's why we have to find him before we get out of here. I know the exit - there's a trapdoor in the dungeons, but if Auldan is still trapped in here somewhere -" Fredrik grimaced. "Can't talk much. Hurts."

"Don't worry, I'll do the talking. Come on." Marcurio placed a hand on his back to steady him, and helped him limp towards the courtyard door. "I already poked around in the solar, and didn't see him there, so that means he must be back in the courtyard or near the party. I'm assuming you already checked in the dungeons?"

"Yes." Fredrik chuckled quietly, and Marcurio shot him an amused look.

"What's so funny, Dragonborn?"

"Just thinking about Auldan," he said. "Back when we met in Kynesgrove, I had no idea what he saw in you."

Marcurio turned slightly pink. "Well, I'm not sure if he _really _\- I mean, we were just teasing, I'm sure. He doesn't really like me, does he?"

"Fucking hell," Fredrik said. "I can't go five seconds without him talking about _smart _and _clever _and _handsome _you are. He practically fell over himself to write you back when you sent him a letter."

Marcurio looked deeply flattered, and Fredrik sighed internally as he realized he was unintentionally helping this budding relationship along. _Well, whatever,_ he thought tiredly. He had never been one to rain on his friend's parade, no matter how stupid it was._ As long as Auldan's happy with courting this failed comedian and utter idiot of a wizard, so am I._

"Just tell me something," he said, and Marcurio looked at him, clearly startled that the big Nord was taking an interest at all. "Are you going to treat him nicely, and take him out to dinner, and tell him he's handsome and make him feel good about himself? And maybe start a family with him after all this is over, instead of running off and breaking his heart?"

Marcurio smiled. "Well," he said, "it would hardly be fair if I didn't."

"And you should know that we're both pretty rich, at this point," Fredrik said. "So no gold-digging, or anything. You have to respect his purse. Don't go buying up spellbooks and sweetrolls with his money. I've dated girls like that before."

"I'll try to restrain myself," Marcurio said, amusedly.

"And _protect _him," Fredrik said, putting emphasis on the word. "Protect him with your life. Keep him safe. Don't let anything happen to him while you're around, you understand?"

"Sounds like you worry about him," Marcurio said gently. "I won't let him come to harm. I promise."

"I do worry," Fredrik muttered. Much as he hated to admit it. "I care about him. I hope you do, too. He's a good man."

Marcurio looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. "You should tell him that," he said. "I think that'd be the sweetest thing you've ever said to him."

"Bah. I don't do that." Fredrik closed his eyes as another wave of pain wracked his body; he bit back a groan, realizing that his time was running out again. "Listen, I -"

"Shh!" Marcurio suddenly grabbed his arm and yanked him into a hallway, and Fredrik staggered in his effort to press himself against the wall, realizing that the room they had been about to enter was already occupied; they both held still, listening as voices echoed from around the corner. Angry voices.

"I never did get to learn your name," Elenwen's sleek voice said. "Or where you came from. Perhaps you'd like to enlighten me now, since I have you at such a... disadvantage?"

"You're mistaken," came the slightly nervous reply, and Fredrik stilled, his heart stopping in his chest; it was Auldan. _What's he doing with her? _"I mean you no harm. I only came here as a diplomatic representative of Whiterun. I've said as much already."

"But your _real _purpose here," Elenwen pressed. "You can give up your disguise now. I know you attended this party under false pretenses, and you tried to sneak past us into forbidden grounds of the embassy. The real question I have is why. What was it that you hoped to gain? Information, perhaps?"

"False pretenses?" Auldan laughed anxiously. "I had an invitation, just like everyone else. You must be mistaken."

Quietly, Marcurio reached over to Fredrik's wound and brushed it with glowing fingers, and Fredrik closed his eyes as he felt a fresh surge of strength - he suddenly realized that Marcurio was imbuing him with courage, one last rush. They both knew what would come next.

"You must be someone's agent," Elenwen said, her voice thick with suspicion. "Perhaps of Ulfric Stormcloak? Seeking to gain information to leverage against the Thalmor alliance?"

"No," Auldan said, clearly startled by the suggestion. "Do I look like a Nord?"

"I could see Ulfric using a Breton spy. Your lot do tend to be... politically savvy." The way Elenwen said it heavily implied that she wanted to use a different, far less polite adjective, and Fredrik's blood began to boil; on top of everything else, why did the Thalmor have to be so damn _racist?_ "But enough talking. You will talk plenty soon enough. Omaril, do what you wish."

There was a shuffling of armor, and then the harsh _shink_ movement of a sword from its sheath. "Wait -" Auldan said, suddenly terrified, and Fredrik finally understood the situation, and felt anger surge through him; the Thalmor had him at swordpoint. "Wait, wait -"

"Oh? Does the Breton feel like talking now?" Elenwen laughed softly. "I do think you will find Omaril to be rather persuasive."

"I told you, this is all a misunderstanding -"

"Not this again." Elenwen sighed. "Omaril, gut him."

And Marcurio and Fredrik both surged from their hiding place as one, as though on some invisible, unspoken signal - fury pounding through Fredrik's wounded brain as he drew his weapons for yet another fight. He was in no shape to be battling, but he was filled with magical courage and he roared "FUS RO!" as they rounded the corner together and the Thalmor soldiers whirled in surprise. His _Thu'um _battered them back like a hurricane, flinging one to the ground like a rag doll. Elenwen opened her mouth to say something, but she never got the words out as Auldan freed his hands and hurled a bolt of ice that sent her crashing to the ground in a heap.

Elenwen laid there for a moment, clearly stunned; she coughed, choked and braced a knee against the ground, ready to push herself up to her feet. But as she looked up, it was to find herself staring right into Fredrik's face. He grinned with bloody teeth. "Meet the Dragonborn," he said, and thrust his sword into her chest so hard that it came out the other side. Elenwen choked, stared at him, and then slid off his blade and fell wetly to the floor, slain at last.

"My dear Fredrik, you are an effective killer," Marcurio said, grimacing as he turned from blasting the Thalmor soldiers into dust. "There won't be much left of her for the Thalmor to bury."

"Good." Fredrik sheathed his swords, swaying slightly, and looked sharply at Auldan. "You all right?"

"Of course I'm all right, you massive dolt," Auldan said, still staring in awe at Elenwen's corpse. "I have a feeling that's going to come back to haunt us later." Then his gaze went to Marcurio, and Fredrik could swear he turned a little pink. "And - what are you doing here?"

"Long story," Fredrik said tightly, before Marcurio could speak. "Listen, do you still have your restoration spell lying around? I need it."

"For what?" Then Auldan saw the blood soaking through Fredrik's armor, and rushed to him at once, everything else forgotten. "Oh, hell, what happened? Fredrik!"

"We should never have split up," Fredrik grunted, lying carefully down on the floor as Auldan slid a cloak under his head for a pillow. "That was a stupid idea."

"Yes," Auldan said, carefully peeling away Fredrik's armor to get at the wound. "It was. Just stay calm, okay? We'll have to stitch you up when we get to the carriage."

"I'll care about that when I'm not dying," Fredrik said wearily. "Hurry up, will you?"

"Sorry." Auldan hastened to open his book bag and fumbled out his restoration book, cracking it open and balancing it carefully on his knees. "Just try to relax. I'm still not perfect at this."

"I'll help," Marcurio said, already clawing around in his bag for his own spellbooks. "I'm worn out from all the fireballs, but if we work together, we can at least stabilize him long enough to get him in a carriage."

Fredrik heaved a dramatic sigh, despite his aching chest. "I'm getting saved by a couple of nerds," he muttered, resting his head on the floor. Auldan laughed.

"Just hold still," he said. "We'll get you fixed up enough to bring you back to Solitude, and then we're getting the hell away from this place."

"Copy that," Fredrik mumbled, and closed his eyes as Auldan laid a hand on his shoulder; he felt that strange cold and warm sensation of torn skin knitting together, the wound closing itself slightly and an organ that was probably important sewing itself back together. The darkness and blood in his eyes cleared, and although he could tell there was still an ominous pain behind his stomach and a still-open wound on the surface, he felt much stronger, like his life force was finally returning. Or at least, he was no longer actively dying, which was a substantial improvement.

"There," Auldan said, removing his hand. "You look less pale now. How do you feel?"

"Just fine." Fredrik tried to brush off his existential fear from earlier as he sat up slowly, maintaining his Nordic bravado. "I wasn't even worried. I've been hurt far worse than a little prick from a Thalmor."

"You're still hurt," Auldan said, and seized his shoulder, helping to haul him to his feet. "But you'll make it out now. Have you found the exit yet?"

"Yes, in the dungeons. I already helped Malborn and Etienne out through there." Fredrik blinked a few times to dispel bugs of light from his vision. "Let's hurry."

"Right." Auldan looked sheepishly at Marcurio as they set off for the dungeons. "I, er - I didn't expect to see you here. It's nice to see you again."

"Well, since you couldn't come to Windhelm, I suppose the gods decided I should come to you." Marcurio winked. "How about we grab a meal when we get back to Whiterun? I hear the innkeeper at the Bannered Mare makes a mean cabbage soup and chicken breast."

"I might take you up on that." Auldan looked nervously at the floor. "I, er, _we _have a house in Whiterun. It's Breezehome, next to Warmaiden's. Maybe you could drop by sometime?"

Marcurio beamed. "I'd like that very much," he said, and Fredrik groaned loudly at the ceiling.

"Gods above, are you _done _yet?" he complained. "My knife wound has more charisma than you two."

Auldan turned pink and looked at the floor. Marcurio sighed. "I don't think your Nord friend approves of me," he said.

"What gave it away?" Fredrik grumbled, as they descended a flight of stairs and he pointed to the thick set of iron doors. "There's the dungeon."

"Looks a little ominous." Auldan pushed open the doors, tentatively, and stepped through. Then he stopped, seeing the pair of dead Thalmor strewn across the floor and the open jail cell soaked in blood. "Er - did you do this?"

"Take a guess." Fredrik grinned as he stomped over to the guard's corpse and gave it a fierce kick in the head. "Stupid elf never stood a chance."

"You're disrespecting the dead," Auldan muttered, heading for the trapdoor and kneeling down to pull it open. "Isn't that bad luck for Nords?"

"Not in my book." Fredrik spat on the elf for good measure, and then went to join Auldan, who was already wriggling nimbly into the trapdoor and out of sight. "Hey, wait for me!"

"It's fine," Auldan called, from below. "Looks like it's some kind of ice cavern, or - _oh no."_

"What?" Fredrik immediately vaulted down behind him, followed by Marcurio; and then together the three of them stood and stared at the corpses of Malborn and Etienne, motionless and lying prone in the snow. Malborn's arm was twisted above his head at a grotesque angle, and Etienne's jaw was ripped off, leaving him gaping hopelessly up at the ceiling of the cave. Fredrik groaned and looked away; even for a battle-hardened Nord, it was a grim sight.

"Akatosh above," Marcurio murmured. "What happened here? Who were those people?"

"He was our Bosmer friend," Auldan said, faintly. "Or at least, he used to be. I don't recognize the other one."

"Stupid thief kid," Fredrik muttered. "His name was Etienne. I knew him from the Thieves' Guild in Riften, back in the day. Didn't deserve to die like that." He had a heavy feeling in his chest; he should have gone with them, he realized. He should have protected them. _Fucking hell, why do I always let people die?_

"I don't know what killed them, but it looks like a beast of some kind," Auldan said shakily. "It ripped them apart. It might still be here. Let's be very quiet and -"

A guttural howl rose from the snow, and they all turned just in time to see a huge creature burst from the darkness like an angel of death - Fredrik had a brief, terrifying impression of three black, staring eyes and leering bloody jaws before Auldan yelled in surprise and Marcurio threw a javelin of lightning. It struck the beast in the forehead, and it roiled back, bellowing; and Fredrik understood at last what they were facing, and felt a jolt of cold fear.

"Frost troll," he realized. The unarmed Malborn and Etienne wouldn't have stood a chance. He fumbled to draw his swords and get into a battle stance, despite the now-throbbing pain in his chest; he knew all of this motion would reopen his wound, but at this moment he didn't particularly care. All of his attention was focused on the troll, who now dropped to its knuckles and snarled a challenge, beating its fists on the ground in an attempt to scare off the three warriors it faced.

"Fredrik," Auldan said, nervously. "Are you sure we can kill this thing?"

Fredrik looked at the troll, with its bloody teeth and fierce eyes, and then looked at the shaky mages by his side, and realized that they were all tired, weak and in no shape to be fighting this thing. "No," he said. "Auldan, I think we should run."

Auldan looked at him, clearly amazed; and Fredrik suddenly realized that in all of their time spent adventuring, he'd never once suggested that they run away from a fight before. "Are you sure?" Auldan asked, as though uncertain whether he'd heard him properly.

"Yes, I'm sure." Fredrik sheathed his weapons, grabbed Auldan's arm, and yanked him away without another word. And they ran.

There were not many times in Fredrik's life, he reflected later, that he had given up on his own, possibly excessive sense of Nordic pride and decided to flee from a fight he knew he couldn't handle. The temptation among Nords was always to consider it cowardly, and perhaps, a few months ago, before he had met Auldan and learned to get the hell over himself, he might have thought his decision a terrible breach of dignity. But when they emerged, safe at last, from the cavern and stepped out into the icy winds and wilderness, he could not help but feel a sense of profound relief, rather than shame or regret. Sometimes, he thought with a smile, he could be just a _little _bit wiser than he was before.

"We made it," Auldan said, sounding awestruck. "We're alive."

"And we have the dossiers we need." Fredrik finally reached into his crumpled armor and took out the books he'd stolen from the prison guard, offering them to Auldan for his inspection. "I think these are what Delphine was looking for."

"Fredrik, you're a genius." Auldan took them eagerly and flipped through the contents. "Wow, they've been watching everybody. Delphine, Ulfric..."

"And I know something else," Fredrik said; he was starting to get a little dizzy from blood loss again, but he knew he had to convey this final bit of information before he passed out. "They're looking for someone. Etienne told me a name. Esbern."

"Esbern," Auldan echoed, thoughtfully. "I'm not familiar. Maybe Delphine will know something about him?"

"Maybe," Fredrik mumbled; his vision was starting to blur. He fell down to one knee, and then the blood loss finally took him and he slumped ungracefully to the ground to Auldan's shout of alarm. But this time he was not seized with the existential dread like before; this time, he did not even consider the possibility that Auldan would not find a way to make sure he woke up again.

And of course he woke again, but whether it was a few minutes or a few hours later, he could not tell. When he cracked open his eyes again, groggy and confused, and found himself staring stupidly up at the black, icy Skyrim sky, it took him a second to register why the ground beneath him was jolting up and down and why the shapes around him were moving and talking. He was lying in the back of a carriage, wrapped in his own bear fur cloak and thickly bandaged from the shoulders down; he could feel the weird, agonizing pull of fresh stitches in his abdomen, and shifted uncomfortably, trying to reduce the itchiness and gritting his teeth as his wound throbbed with pain in response. Auldan was speaking to Marcurio in low tones as a very grumpy-looking Delphine drove them back southward. Fredrik strained his tired ears, trying to make out what they were saying.

"It doesn't make any sense," Auldan said. "If Fredrik's dossiers are correct, then the Aldmeri Dominion doesn't know a thing about the dragons. I thought they'd at least have a clue about where Alduin came from or how to reverse the crisis. But they haven't got a single lead except for Esbern and the Blades. Are the Thalmor just... stupid?"

"I wouldn't judge them so quickly," Marcurio said, delicately brushing snow off his robes as he considered the problem. "In my experience, elves tend to be a lot smarter than they let on. But I agree that their lack of knowledge about the dragons is a little strange, given their supposed vast intelligence and all. Maybe they really are too stuck up their asses to even gather information properly."

"It's just odd." Auldan looked at Delphine, who was gripping the reins of the horses in white knuckles and looking deeply impatient. "Who did you say this Esbern is again?"

"An old friend of mine," Delphine said, without taking her eyes off the road. "I didn't know he was even alive. But we have to find him - he'll know more about the dragons than anyone else."

"Strange name, that. _Esbern,_" Marcurio said, playfully trying it out. "These Nords have such strange names. Your lovely Breton name, it flows off the tongue so nicely, but _Esbern? _Ugh."

"Are you including Fredrik in that judgment, then?" Auldan grinned. "It is a bit of a rough name, all things considered. All those hard consonants."

"Yes, I always found vowels _much _sexier," Marcurio said, wiggling his eyebrows in what he obviously thought was a very attractive way. Of course, it had the opposite effect, and Auldan laughed.

"Fuck you," he said. "You're just trying to win me over before we get back to Whiterun."

"Well, you _are _the Dragonborn and all." Marcurio fluttered his eyelashes playfully. "Highly desirable husband material, if I do say so myself."

Auldan chuckled, and Fredrik had to smile a little at the bright glow on his face; it had been a long time since he'd seen Auldan in such a good mood. "Gods," he said. "What is it with you and making me laugh?"

"I'm just as confused as you are. I was under the impression no one thought I was funny." Marcurio smiled in jest, but Fredrik caught the sheepish look in his eyes, and realized that the mage was serious; he really was used to no one laughing at his jokes, and was clearly overjoyed that Auldan actually liked his sense of humor. It made him feel just a _little _less annoyed at the mage's constant, irritating quips. But only a little.

He cleared his throat pointedly. "Are you done making fun of my name now?" he asked, and both Auldan and Marcurio jumped, clearly not realizing he was awake.

"Fredrik!" Auldan hastened to check on him, peering at his bandages to look for signs of bleeding. "Are you all right? How are you feeling?"

"Terrible." Fredrik closed his eyes, overcome by exhaustion again. "Are we going back to Whiterun?"

"Yes, we're taking you home. You need bed rest and more healing. Arcadia might have some potions that can help." Auldan patted his shoulder gently. "We got what we needed from the elves. Everything's all right. Go back to sleep."

"I'm killing you both when I wake up," Fredrik muttered, and closed his eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness.

He didn't remember exactly what he dreamed about. Maybe it was a black dragon gliding soundlessly through a cloudy sky, the screams of lost souls, the waving whispers of trees in some place that was far away from the plane he knew. Perhaps he even saw another dragon, a huge grey one with tattered wings who spoke of Words of Power and voices and Shouts that could cut dragons from the sky. But the dream soon slipped through his fingers like sand, and he forgot about it.

When he next woke, feeling the way he usually did after a long night at the inn - punch-drunk and deeply hungover - he found himself lying in bed and gazing up at the vaulted, slightly dusty ceiling of his bedroom in Breezehome. He could not help but sigh fondly. "Found a way to make sure I didn't die, eh?" he said, to no one in particular.

"Yes, you have a habit of staying alive," came Auldan's wry reply, right on cue. "Unfortunately for me."

"You'd better watch your mouth, wizard. I can write you out of my lease anytime I want." Fredrik closed his eyes tiredly, realizing he was too dizzy to try getting up; besides, he could still feel his stitches pulling in his stomach when he moved, which told him he was in no state to be in a sitting position, however annoying it was to be forced to lie in bed and twiddle his thumbs. "How long have I been out?"

"A week," Auldan said. "Delphine decided to give you some time to recover."

"Figures." Fredrik knew this injury would take a while to fully come back from, however much he wanted to leap out of bed and get back to the adventure; they would have to lie low and stay hidden for a while. "Is there a timeframe on when I can get back to kicking elven ass?"

"Two weeks at least," Auldan said. Fredrik growled angrily. "And don't look at me like that, it's not my jurisdiction. Arcadia's orders."

"Stupid," Fredrik grumbled, letting his head fall back into the pillow. "I was stupid, to let myself get stabbed like that. Could have really died that time."

"Yes, well, I'm very used to you being stupid." But Auldan touched his shoulder fondly. "Get some rest. I've been looking after the house and planning our trip to Riften."

"I always did miss that place." Fredrik had frequented those streets once, during his days in the Thieves' Guild. He knew the curves and turns of the Ratway better than he knew the lines and scars in his palm. "I look forward to beating the shit out of old Maul again."

Just then a small, rusty-haired boy ascended the staircase and hovered in the bedroom doorway, cautiously. "Mister Auldan, sir? Is it all right if I go to the market?"

"That's fine, Blaise." Auldan knelt down, took out his purse and counted him out some pocket money. "Here's twenty septims. Go buy yourself some sweetrolls and honey treats, all right? And don't let Braith take anything from you - she's a bully."

"Thanks, Mister Auldan." Blaise took the money, his eyes shining. "You're the best."

"I told you to stop calling me Mister." Auldan ruffled his hair fondly. "Go on, now. Run along."

The boy hurried off. Fredrik squinted at Auldan suspiciously. "Are you letting street urchins in my house?" he asked.

"Well, er - he's not exactly _staying _here. I just figured I could give him a place for a while, until I can find a better home for him." Auldan kicked at a crack in the floorboards, determinedly not looking in his direction. "I'll bring him to the orphanage in Riften, when we get there. You told me you killed that old hag Grelod the Kind, after all - surely someone better is running it now."

Fredrik stared at his expression, realized the boy had been wearing much nicer clothes and looked much happier and well-fed than he had when they'd met him back in Katla's farm, and sighed heavily. "There's not a chance in hell you're letting that boy rot in a Riften orphanage," he said. "You want to adopt him, don't you?"

Auldan turned a bit pink and did not respond.

"Well, fine. I don't care. As long as he doesn't make a mess or touch my stuff." Fredrik closed his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that his friend's heart was far too soft for his own good. "Maybe we can look at finding you a bigger house, soon. Like that cabin in Falkreath. I'm fine staying here, but you need more space if you're going to have kids."

"Maybe." Auldan smiled sheepishly. "But we can worry about that later. I think it would be hard right now, given that we tend to traipse halfway across Skyrim every other week."

"True." Fredrik chuckled wearily. "Now go on, play with your kid. I need some sleep."

"All right, but don't die while I'm gone. I'll run some errands." Auldan picked up his alchemist's satchel and slung it over his shoulder. "I might stop by Arcadia's again and pick up some more pain-relieving potions for you. Do you want anything to eat or drink while I'm out?"

"Some wine might be nice." Fredrik grinned. "And you know, I could really go for some Argonian ale right about now. And maybe a whiskey, if you have time -"

"No drinking," Auldan scolded him. "Arcadia said you have to wait until your stomach heals."

"Bah!" Fredrik scowled at the ceiling. "What am I, an invalid?"

"Right now, yes." Auldan rolled his eyes. "Just stay put and don't die. I'll be gone for about an hour."

"Wait," Fredrik said, and Auldan paused in the doorway. "I forgot to tell you - I got you something, back in Solitude. A present."

"You did?" Auldan looked on, startled, as Fredrik painfully reached over to his knapsack and rummaged around. "Fredrik, you didn't have to -"

"No buts. Just take it." And Fredrik carefully opened the small paper package he'd bought for most of his wallet back at the Bits and Pieces, and took out a beautifully polished Amulet of Mara. "I told you I got one of these in Riften a long time ago, but I never had anyone to give it to. So I might as well give one to someone who does."

"I - oh, gods." Auldan looked at him with a mix of awe and gratitude as he took the necklace, clearly recognizing the significance of the gift; it was not just a present, but a blessing from one brother to another. "Fredrik, this is too much."

"Well, look at the bright side." Fredrik cracked a smile. "Now you can fall in love like a proper Nord."

Auldan touched the amulet softly. "Fredrik," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "This means a lot. Thank you."

"But don't go thinking it's symbolic, or anything," Fredrik said firmly. "I'm not giving you my blessing to chase that complete idiot of an Imperial. It's just a gift."

"Right," Auldan said, but the twinkle in his eyes said otherwise.

* * *

_A/N: At this point I have been going through the quests in Skyrim to see which ones Auldan and Fredrik have "completed" over the course of the story. They obviously just finished Diplomatic Immunity, which puts them at the middle of Act II of the main quest. Auldan essentially finished Laid to Rest solo, the vampire quest in Morthal, after he figured out the truth and killed Alva. He's also technically finished Rising at Dawn to cure his former vampirism. So overall, they've done a couple of sidequests and are now steadily chipping away at the main story quest, and I've obviously been strongly hinting that they will go through the Dawnguard DLC at some point too. Never fear - their adventures will continue!_


End file.
